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BY 

/ 

JENNIE HARRISON, 

AUTHOR OF “ DOCTOR WILL,” “ UP STAIRS,” “ JEAN MACDONALD’S 

WORK,” ETC. 



AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 

150 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK CITY. 



4 



COPYRIGHT, 1887, 

BY AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY. 




p /?2.V 




(i'V 


I. The Charity Bazar 5 

II. The Separate Race ^ 12 

III. A College Friend 20 

IV. The Brand Family 29 

V. A Genuine Pastor 37 

VI. The Poor Shop-Girl 46 

VII. The Young Disciple 56 

VIII. Seeking for Light 65 

IX. In the Charity Hospital 74 

X. A Disappointed Hope 82 

XI. Sunday Morning at Church 88 

XH. The Anonymous Note 98 

XHI. A Misunderstanding 106 

XIV. Grandfather Nathan.. 114 

XV. Confessing Christ 123 

XVI. In Rabbi Isaacs’ Study 133 

XVH. Flowers at the Hospital 143 





XVIII. The Paschal Lamb 


153 


, 4 CONTENTS. 

XIX, Farewell to the Hospital 162 

XX. Miss Rothmann and the Rabbi 170 

' XXI. The Unwelcome Legacy 178 

XXII. Plans for the Summer 187 

XXIII. A Divided Household 196 

XXIV. At a Seaside Hotel 204 

XXV. A Plea for Shop-Girls 210 

XXVI. True Christian Friendship 219 

XXVII. At the Rothmann Cottage 228 

XXVIII. A Mystery Explained 238 

XXIX. A Visitor from White Beach 246 

XXX. Perjudice Renounced 254 

XXXI. Following the Light 261 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


I. 

THE CHARITY BAZAR. 

. “ThEO, do you see that young girl bending 
over the basket of lilies ? What a wonderfully 
sweet face she has !” 

“Yes, I see. She is beautiful. But, Roger, 
don’t you recognize the infallible signs — the 
marks which designate the race P ’ 

“You mean, I suppose, that the young lady 
is a Jewess. But what has that to do with my 
observation? I see no reason why it should be 
brought in at all.” 

“Oh, now, that is too radical entirely. Do 
you mean to say that you would reckon her in 
among all the fair women of your acquaintance 
without so much as saying apologetically, ‘ But 
she is a Jewess ’?” 

“ I do mean just that. Why should the mere 
fact that a woman is a Jewess set her aside from 
all that we count lovely and attractive?” 

“Why should it not?” 


6 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


The speakers passed slowly on, absorbed in 
their discussion. Neither of them noticed that 
the shapely head was bent lower over the fragrant 
lilies, and then raised, as if with a sudden im- 
pulse, while a strange light shone in the dark 
eyes as they just glanced at the young men. One 
could tell by that light in the eyes that the girl 
had heard both the last question and its reply. 

All around were happy faces and smiling lips. 
Word answered to word in light repartee or cour- 
teous greeting. It was one of those assemblies 
which occur occasionally in great cities and in 
small towns — a bazar or fair whose object was a 
charity not restricted to any one body of believ- 
ers, but 'which all might help without regard to 
party or creed. 

Sara Rothmann’s heart was warm to the good 
work. She had spared neither purse nor time 
nor self. She had given generously of all that 
she had. Steadily had she refused, however, 
when asked to stand at table or to take any such 
prominent part. “No,” she had answered firm- 
ly; “but I will promise to be here ready at any 
time for any emergency, and to help when there 
seems, a real need of my services.” 

She had kept her word faithfully. Many 
were the wistful eyes and scant purses that she 
sought out in her graceful, quiet way, making the 


THE CHARITY BAZAR. 


7 


owners glad, without causing them to feel that 
they were receiving charity. It was simply ‘ ‘ Let 
us” do thus and so; or, “Wont you do me the 
favor to take this home to” such a one? without 
any ostentatious distinctions of giver and receiver. 

Such a woman should have been very happy, 
you will say. No; Sara Rothmann was not very 
happy as she moved among the gay throng that 
evening conscientiously trying to fulfil all her 
duty. Many a girl, with her position, her wealth, 
her bright home, her friends, her talents and op- 
portunities, would have been perfectly joyous and 
contented. But something jarred, to this girl’s 
mind; her life’s harmony was not true; she felt it 
day after day, yet could scarcely tell where the 
false note was. 

It is so with many of us. We wonder, we fret 
at the discord, we look far out to find the disso- 
nant key, when all the while it lies just beneath 
our hand and we press it in our anxiety. 

Long after the two young men had passed 
from her view their words lingered with Miss 
Rothmann. Ever and anon, in the midst of the 
merry voices and laughter, she seemed to hear 
again that scornful “Why should it not?” 

The thoughtful sadness of her face only made 
it more beautiful. Both men and women paused 
to look a second time as they passed her. It 


8 


ROGER Dunham’s" choice. 

seemed a face out of place in that gay throng. It 
had a likeness to the patient Madonna-face which 
artists have portrayed. 

“Tired, my dear?” asked a comfortable-look- 
ing lady as Sara approached a little circle near 
one of the tables. 

“I believe I am, mother. Isn’t it almost 
time to go ?’ ’ 

They all smiled, glancing at one another. 

“Why, that question would come more ap- 
propriately from your mother. In my young days 
it was the elder ladies who were obliged to ask, 

‘ Is n’t it almost time to go?’ and the young ladies 
who were compelled to tear themselves away from 
pleasant scenes. ’ ’ 

There was just the faintest sound of reproval 
in the lady’s voice. 

Sara recogni^^ed it and looked at her mother, 
saying, ‘ ‘ I hope I am not hurrying you, mother. 
I did not think — I — ” 

“ Not in the least, my dear. I am quite ready 
to go whenever it suits you and Deane. ’ ’ 

“Deane” at that moment came up. He was 
very like his sister, only much gayer and appa- 
rently lighter-hearted. 

He greeted the ladies courteously, and then 
asked his mother and sister if there was anything 
he could do for them. 


THE CHARITY BA^AR. 9 

“Thanks, my son, nothing, unless it be to 
take us home. Sara is somewhat tired.” 

“Certainly; we will go immediately,” he re- 
plied ; and he went to order the carriage. 

As he was returning some one placed a hand 
upon his shoulder and said, “Why, Rothmann, 
have you ladies here ? and may I ask if that is 
your sister ?’ ’ 

“Yes, that is my sister,” replied the young 
man, with a touch of pride in his tone and a faint 
reflection of that look of sadness which was in the 
sister’s face. 

‘ ‘ May I be so bold as to ask for an introduc- 
tion? I should consider it a favor.” 

“ Certainly;” and Deane led him to where the 
two ladies stood saying their farewell words among 
a group of friends. 

Nothing could have been pleasanter than the 
unaffected courtesy with which Roger Dunham 
acknowledged the new acquaintance and uttered 
his few words before they parted. Yet somehow 
the girl’s heart was very sore. 

“Your brother and I are very good friends. 
Miss Rothmann, and I hope I may be allowed the 
pleasure of seeing you also occasionally.” 

Miss Rothmann bowed with a smile that was 
very sweet, yet not very encouraging. Then she 
went away with her mother. 


lO ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

The young man looked regretfully after the 
graceful vision. He felt as if something high and 
pure had crossed his path. And yet people said, 
“A Jewess!” and shrugged their shoulders. 

Roger Dunham began to meditate. He had, 
like many others, not given the subject much 
thought. But something had endowed it with a 
new interest now in his mind, and he wondered 
why it was that this matter of origin, which in 
the case of other races seems to go for so little, 
should in this one case be made of such vast im- 
portance. 

However, that was not the place for medita- 
tion upon any subject, and presently his friend 
came upon him with a warning, “Aha 1 caught, 
I see; completely trapped! But take care, Roger. 
I wouldn’t, if I were you. Your friends will be 
down upon you; you’ll lose your position in so- 
ciety. ’ ’ 

“All right! I wont, then,” replied Mr. Dun- 
ham, and walked away somewhat impatiently. 

As he went homeward under the starry skies, 
clear and cold, there came to his memory events 
and passages which had been half forgotten. He 
walked with uplifted head, as if asking an under- 
standing of it all. 

“The seed of Abraham;” “As the stars of 
heaven for multitude;” “ His chosen people.” 


THE CHARITY BAZAR. 


II 


Then he thought of the doors that were closed 
against all bearers of the Jewish name, of the peo- 
ple and the places that would not know them. A 
race branded and set apart! Yes, he had read the 
sad story in that girl’s pathetic eyes. Even she, 
^ gentle and beautiful as she was, must find many a 
resting-spot barred against her. Even to her must 
the national name be applied as a byword, a term 
of reproach and derision. “A Jew!” how often 
he had heard it spoken in tones of contempt! 

“Oh, why doesn’t she come out from among 
them!” he exclaimed inwardly. 

While he was devising all sorts of impossible 
methods of converting Miss Rothmann he came 
to his own door, and life’s common realities, in 
the guise of a budget of business letters and a com- 
fortable bed, were suddenly presented before him. 


12 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


II. 

THE SEPARATE RACE. 

Roger Dunham had known young Roth- 
mann in a business way for a short time. He 
had taken a fancy to him, and, although they 
had become somewhat intimate, he had never yet 
suspected that Rothmann was a Jew. 

The truth was that Roger Dunham was not of 
a prying or suspicious nature. He did not dissect 
his friends and acquaintances, as is the manner of 
some. In fact, people said he was not sufficiently 
particular as to the friends he chose; he was “quite 
too democratic.” 

That is what Theo Brand was saying at his 
breakfast-table the morning after the Charity Ba- 
zar. 

“Imagine Roger raving over a pretty Jewess!” 
he said to his sister. “ The fellow actually sought 
an introduction to her ! I don’t know what ab- 
surdity he will be guilty of next.” 

“What can you expect if those creatures are 
allowed to mix so with Christian people ? It is 
really becoming quite too offensive. One is in 
danger of encountering them wherever one goes.” 

The speaker was a, fair-faced girl, and it was 


THE SEPARATE RACE. 


13 


a pretty pair of lips that spoke the words “Chris- 
tian people. ’ ’ But was there not something lack- 
ing here of that true Christianity which is ‘ ‘ gen- 
tle unto all”? 

“Yes,” Theo Brand rejoined, “and that makes 
the absurdity of Roger’s fancy all the more appa- 
rent. He sees plenty of pretty Jew girls every 
day of his life on the cars and on the street — ev- 
erywhere. Yet he must needs become infatuated 
with this particular one!” 

‘ ‘ I cannot imagine where you see any beauty 
in them,” said Miss Brand, raising her fair head, 
with her blue eyes full of scorn. “Why, Minette 
there has far more claim to beauty,” she added, 
speaking in French and glancing at the mulatto 
girl who was waiting on the table. 

“Well, tastes differ, you know,” replied her 
brother, laughing. 

Then gradually the others at the table took 
up the subject, and there was a general denuncia- 
tion of that obnoxious race who are scattered over 
the face of the earth, finding no abiding-place to 
call by the sacred names of fatherland and home, 
the scorn of men and outcasts among the nations, 
“who put in an appearance everywhere,” said 
the elder Mr. Brand, “ and look sharply after the 
money-bags!” yet who are not of us, and who sit 
apart from us, waiting, some of them, with half- 


14 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

dismayed hearts for the Promise that seems so 
long in its fulfilment. 

Poor fellow-mortals! How can we, who our- 
selves are so often disobedient and ungrateful to 
the Lord of all, feel aught but pity for these who 
as a race have not hearkened to the gospel, and 
to whom “blindness in part is happened ”? And 
how dare we scorn and deride the people of whom 
He was born who became our Salvation ? I think 
the great eternal God, who has mercy for us all, 
must keep an especial tenderness of pity for these 
whom he once called his ‘ ‘ own people, ’ ’ and of 
whom his only-begotten Son chose to be when he 
came to take upon him our human nature. 

Some such thought as this had floated dream- 
ily through Roger Dunham’s mind the night be- 
fore, and it came back to him forcibly as he sat 
at his lonely morning meal the next day. I say 
“lonely,” for, although he lived with an affec- 
tionate aunt, who made his home comfortable, 
his breakfast was almost always taken alone. His 
aunt was a woman of fashion, and she slept late 
in the mornings, when Roger was obliged to be 
up and at work. 

This morning he lingered somewhat over 
his meal thinking of the newly-suggested prob- 
lem. 

“Why is it? Have people any right to treat 


THE SEPARATE RACE. 1 5 

them so?” he questioned, with a feeling of indig- 
nation at the world in general. ‘ ‘ It was not the 
great Master’s way. He never sanctioned any 
such course.” 

Then he remembered Deane Rothmann’s sis- 
ter. How fond Deane had seemed of her! Yet 
he had never mentioned her name to him, never 
intimated that he had a sister, as young men are 
apt to do one with another. Why was it ? Had 
he feared to speak because she was a Jewess? 
Had he reckoned him among those who would 
scorn to count a Jew among their acquaintances? 
Then indeed had Deane Rothmann made a great 
mistake, and he should understand it sooner or 
later, perhaps that very day, thought the enthu- 
siastic young man. ‘‘For Rothmann has no 
right to keep so much sweetness and gentle- 
ness and beauty all to himself. Ah, if I had a 
sister!” 

He leaned his head on his hand and mused of 
all the pleasant things that would enter his now 
meagre life if he had that sister. He was chival- 
rous and affectionate in his disposition, and some- 
times grew heart-hungry for some such compan- 
ionship and sympathy as he fancied might be 
given him by a sister, if he had one, upon whom 
he might bestow much that he daily kept re- 
pressed and hidden, and from whom he might 


l6 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

receive that generous tenderness which most men 
can appreciate at one time or another during their 
lives. 

This young man, too, was hungry of soul as 
well as of heart, though this he did not recognize 
as readily. If some one could have led him with 
loving hand to the Master of life, at whose feet 
he might have knelt to take up the cross — his 
own special daily burden — to carry it thenceforth 
with brave cheerfulness and to grow strong un- 
der it, with heaven in view, then indeed would 
Roger Dunham’s heart and soul have been filled 
and his scanty life enriched and enlarged. 

He rose with a sigh, scarcely knowing what 
he lacked or how the lack might be supplied. 
He was not an evil young man, simply a careless 
one whose life-stream ran on in its accustomed 
shallow, shaded channel, quiet and comparatively 
harmless, but not refreshing any, not reflecting 
the glories far above, not helpfully carrying oth- 
ers’ burdens nor ruffling to the grand, keen winds 
of divine influence which search and purify. 

There were noble possibilities in his character 
as yet undeveloped. Perhaps just this little inci- 
dent which had occurred at the bazar so recent- 
ly, arousing him to think with such earnestness, 
might be the touch upon the life-spring, the sa- 
ving touch, setting in harmonious movement all 


THE SEPARATE RACE. I 7 

his now dormant energies and making him the 
man that his Maker intended he should be. 

Not many hours had gone by before he en- 
countered in the course of business his friend 
Deane Rothmann. He urged him to meet him 
at luncheon, mentioning the place and the time. 
The young man consented, and Roger waited im- 
patiently for the appointed hour. 

When they had spoken the ordinary words of 
greeting and were enjoying their meal, Roger 
said, 

“Rothmann, you gave me a very pleasant 
surprise last night. I didn’t know that you had 
a sister. How proud you ought to be! Yet you 
must n’t be miserly, either.” 

His friend smiled, and replied quietly, “My 
sister does not go out very much ; that is, not 
nearly as much as most young ladies do.” 

“Then I shall consider myself even more 
highly favored than I had thought in having 
been introduced to her. And, Rothmann, if you 
are willing, I ’d like to call some evening, just in 
an informal way — some evening when you and 
your sister are both at home.” 

“Why, of course, Dunham, you are always 
welcome. My friends are always received kindly 
by my mother and sister. ’ ’ 

As he spoke there was a tender light shining 


Soger Dunliam’s Choice, 


2 


l8 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOiCE. 

in liis dark eyes which Roger Dunham did not 
fail to notice. 

‘‘Ah, Rothmann, you are a fortunate fellow 
to have a home where are a mother and a sister. 
I have no one like that to ask you to come and 
see in return. You will find only me and my 
comfortable but lonely bachelor quarters.” 

“Possibly, though, Dunham; you have other 
things that are W’orth a great deal to you, things 
that I would give half I am worth to be able to 
command!” he added in a low tone. Then, after 
• a steadfast look into his friend’s face, a half in- 
quiring look, as if questioning whether he should 
tell him something, he said, “You know, Dun- 
ham, I belong to the hated race, that race against 
whom people bar their doors, for whom there is 
no welcome in society, no place at fireside or table 
with those of other blood. ’ ’ 

He spoke bitterly ; and again Roger saw in 
his face the strong likeness to his beautiful sis- 
ter. 

“I did not know it until lately, Rothmann; 
but it would have made no difference with me if 
I had. I choose my friends for what they are to 
me, not for the race they belong to. And if I 
owned the ‘ fireside ’ and the ‘ table, ’ you may be 
very sure that there would be room at each for 
you. I shall come to yours, all the same, if you 


THE SEPARATE RACE. I9 

will let me, taking all the benefit and giving 
none. ’ ’ 

“It is very kind of you, Dunham; but think 
twice before you brave society’s frown,” he said, 
with a sad smile. 

Roger bade him a cordial good-by when they 
parted, and his hearty good-fellowship made glad 
the heart of this young man who was “separate 
from his brethren. ’ ’ 


20 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


III. 

A COEEEGE friend. 

The next question which Roger Dunham 
asked himself in his newly-awakened enthusiasm, 
his vague wonder and pity, was this: “Why 
doesn’t he come out from among them?” At 
least the Jewish lineage need not make any differ- 
ence if he would renounce the creed, he thought. 
And the thought stayed with him; he could not 
rid himself of it. Yet he dared not speak it to 
his friend ; and he certainly had no inclination to 
speak it to any other person. 

Roger Dunham’s “friends” were few. Not 
because he had not those qualities which call forth 
friendship. He was a manly, pleasant young fel- 
low, and might have had scores of friends, so 
called, had he chosen. But he was reserved by 
nature; and having few family ties, he had not 
that opportunity for making acquaintances which 
members of a large household have. Yet, with 
all his reserve, he was charged with being “too 
democratic ’ ’ in his adoption of friends and asso- 
ciates. 

Theo Brand’s was the only family where 
Roger visited with any frequency or familiarity. 


A COI.I.EGE: ERIEND. 


21 


These two young men had known each other 
from childhood, and the household fires around 
which Theo’s family gathered had ever shown a 
welcoming blaze for Roger, whose own home was 
such a mere lodging-place — a very comfortable 
one certainly, yet not to be compared with the 
home to which his friend gave him such cordial 
welcome. 

Roger had not seen Theo since the evening of 
the “Charity Bazar.” Somehow he felt drawn 
more in another direction. Brand’s remarks that 
night and his own meditations afterwards did not 
seem to chime harmoniously together. There 
was discord somewhere. 

Roger Dunham felt his quiet, half-aimless life 
suddenly stirred and awakened. It is a good 
thing for any of us when something stirs the dull 
waters of our lives, rouses us from selfish dreams, 
and moves us to new purposes and to interests 
outside of our own narrow routine. It is a token 
from our Master that we are not doing what we 
might for him and for his glory. Well for us, 
then, will it be if we set our troubled hearts 
steadfastly to seeking that which God would have 
us do and learn, if we falter not nor go aside in 
paths of our own choosing. 

The work which most of us miss and neglect 
chiefly here upon earth is that of caring for and 


22 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

sympathizing with our fellow-men. Life is so 
full, our plans are so many and so enticing, that 
we grow selfish, pushing on our way, taking no 
heed of the hearts that are throbbing at our side, 
seeing not the uplifted faces that cry mutely for 
help and for sympathy. 

Thus the placid course of Roger Dunham’s 
life had been stirred and ruffled. Did he realize 
what it meant? Would he go forth to follow his 
Master? After all, that is the test. It is easy 
enough to sit at the Master’s feet on the calm 
mountain-top and listen to the voice which probes 
our most secret ways of life and sets its unques- 
tionable “Thou shalt” or “Thou shalt not” 
over the pathways which stretch before us. It is 
easy enough to walk by the Master’s side along 
the sunlit streets, where tlie “multitude” cry, 
“Hosanna!” to go with him into the temple at 
the hour of prayer, and to sit with hushed breath 
as the wondrous words of life fall upon the ear. 
But to go forth and follow him when his “Come!” 
sounds across the troubled waters or up the rug- 
ged steep, and when following means self-denial 
and toil, ah, that is a different thing ! If we would 
gain faith for such following we must live with 
our Master, who is also our Elder Brother, through 
each day’s little space of cloud and sunshine, of 
work and endurance. Every hour must find us at 


A COLLEGE FRIEND. 23 

his side, ready for the word which shall set us 
“ here ” or “ there.” And if with him, then also 
with his people, the poor, the weak, the lonely, 
the sad; ay, and the erring too, the sin -stained 
and the fallen, who yet bear the divine image be- 
neath all their shame and defilement. All are 
his. He left his throne for every one. Let us 
put upon us his whiteness, and then we shall not 
fear to go with him seeking the lost sheep through 
the darkest wilderness. 

As Roger Dunham walked homeward, a few 
days after his introduction to Miss Rothmann, he 
was suddenly reminded of an acquaintance who 
might possibly help him out of the doubts and 
questionings which had so taken hold upon him. 

Dana Youngs had been a classmate of Roger’s 
at college. They had been congenial friends; but 
after Dana had entered the ministry the friend- 
ship, like so many in this over-full life of ours, 
had become almost a thing of the past — a pleas- 
ant memory, to draw the curtain from occasion- 
ally and smile upon the picture, refreshing and 
true, but not of this every-day, working, money- 
getting world. 

Roger had occasionally, in his aimless, indif- 
ferent way, gone to his friend’s church to hear 
him preach, perhaps as frequently as three times 
in a year, wondering every time what had caused 


24 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


Youngs, with his aesthetic tastes and his fine 
attainments, to settle in that wretched part of the 
city. He had not married; “and no wonder,” 
reflected Roger as he glanced from side to side of 
the dingy, noisy, unwholesome neighborhood ; 
“he could not bring a wife here. I wonder that 
he can stay here so much himself.” 

He passed through the heavy church doors 
(always open, that whosoever would might enter 
in to commune with his own heart and God and 
be still, even in that noisy, crowded thoroughfare) 
and walked with resounding footsteps up the long 
stone aisle to a smaller door, at which he knocked. 

“ Come,” called the familiar voice. 

“It’s the same old ‘Come’ that I’ve heard 
so often in college days,” said Roger. “ Youngs’ 
room was always a favorite meeting- place.” 

“Why, Dunham!” cried the astonished cler- 
gyman as he looked up and saw his old friend. 
“ Who would have thought of seeing you here? 
Sit down. Why, I’m very glad.” 

“I shut my eyes as you speak, and we are to- 
gether in the old ‘ den ;’ you with your inevitable 
book in hand, and I the same uncertain, wander- 
ing star that you find me to-day.” 

Roger Dunham laughed and searched the face 
of his friend. 

“Does it seem so, Dunham? Well, do you 


A COLLEGE FRIEND. 


25 


know I am to myself almost another being since 
I have been here among the people — among the 
people,” he repeated with a slow, musing empha- 
sis, “ His people. Ah, Dunham, it is a wonderful 
work; it changes a man’s whole life. It — well, 
it ought to make him another man in the best 
sense of the word.” 

“You are indeed changed. Youngs — you, 
with your fine tastes and your keen delight in all 
proper and beautiful things, to have come here 
and settled yourself down among this class of 
people, and especially when we all know that 
you might have done so differently.” 

“Certainly; we are all allowed some choice, 
Dunham. Yet I felt that I was called to do just 
this work. I could not turn from the voice that 
said plainly, ‘ Here is work to be done for Me. ’ 
And indeed there has never come to me a moment 
of regret; I think I can truly say it, never a mo- 
ment of regret.” 

The speaker was a fine-looking young man, 
and his enthusiasm, as he spoke thus, lighted up 
his whole face, making it rarely beautiful. 

Roger Dunham gazed at him with a feeling 
of surprise and almost of envy. “I’d like to get 
as much as that out of life,” he said with a faint 
smile. “You will have to initiate me, Dana.” 

The clergyman looked searchingly into his 


26 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

companion’s face. It was the face of a man who 
was half tired of the good things of life, who had 
tasted largely and yet went unsatisfied, who had 
grown weary of the calm routine of pleasant and 
easy things. One sees such faces often among 
the young men of our day. They are not bad 
faces, yet they are not altogether pleasing to look 
upon. One feels that there are needed rough 
winds of opposition and hardship to call the lines 
of firm purpose into the countenance, work for a 
worthy end and patient endurance to imprint se- 
rene assurance between the lines, the high atmo- 
sphere of aspiring and earnest endeavor to make 
rugged, and the sunny kindliness of out-reaching 
and active sympathies to shine over and brighten 
all. 

Roger Dunham had been, as he himself would 
have expressed it, “bored ” by life’s dull, familiar 
way until this sudden, strange question had set 
itself before him, demanding to be answered. 
This caused a look of half-fretted perplexity in 
the placid weariness of his countenance which the 
keen, practised eye of the minister did not fail to 
notice. 

“ Why, Dunham, I thought that life was to be 
a very excellent thing to you. You had some 
such thoughts in the old days, I remember. Has 
it grown unsatisfying already?” 


A COLLEGE FRIEND. 


27 


“Yes, already, Dana. I was growing bored 
beyond measure; but there has come something 
to me lately which — ’ ’ He hesitated and appeared 
somewhat embarrassed. “Well, it is a puzzling 
problem, to which I never gave any thought before. 
And somehow it has stopped me with its persist- 
ency at every turn within the last few days. I 
thought — indeed X knew — that you could read the 
riddle for me. So I coupled business with pleas- 
ure and came across to see you. Now come away 
from this bedlam of a place and let us go some- 
where to dine quietly together.” 

Roger’s problem in regard to “Christian” 
treatment of the Jews was duly submitted to his 
friend, whose answer was in substance as follows: 

The scorn and suffering of which the Jews 
have so largely partaken since their rejection of 
the Messiah are in accordance with many pro- 
phetic declarations of the Scriptures in regard to 
the punishment of Israel for disobedience to their 
God. For instance, they were to be “removed 
into all the kingdoms of the earth,” and “op- 
pressed and spoiled evermore.” Deut. 28: 25, 29. 

And yet, though God thus makes ‘ ‘ the wrath 
of man praise” him in the working out of his 
purposes of judgment as of grace, the oppressor or 
despiser of his erring and chastened human bro- 
ther is none the less a sinner against the divine 


28 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


law of charity to all, and none the less himself an 
object of divine disapprobation ; for, as Dana 
pointed out to Roger, when the kingdom of Ju- 
dah had sinned, and had therefore been brought 
low by the conquering arms of Babylon, the wrath 
of God was denounced against that merciless op- 
pressor, Jer. 50:17, 18, and also against Judah’s 
neighbors, the Ammonites, Moabites, Edomites, 
etc., because they rejoiced over the calamity of 
the Jews and derided them. Ezek. 25; 26; Obad. 
10-14. 

Paul virtually repeats the warning that may 
be gathered from these passages, and applies it 
explicitly to Gentile Christians. To such, as 
‘‘wild-olive” branches “grafted into” the “good 
olive-tree” of the family of God, the apostle says, 
“Boast not against the (natural) branches,” that 
is, those who, by descent from Abraham and Sa- 
rah, were in the original line of the divine bless- 
ing; and he further expressly forbids the exulta- 
tion of the grafted branches over “natural branch- 
es” that “because of unbelief” had been “bro- 
ken off.” Rom. II : 17-24. “ For God is able to 

graft them in again. ’ ’ Many a time Dana Youngs, 
in the consciousness of his own weakness, encour- 
aged himself by the thought of this assurance. 


^U'E BRAND FAMIDY. 


29 


IV. 

the: brand famidy. 

‘‘What has become of Roger Dunham? 
Have you said or done anything to offend him, 
Klf? He has not been here in so long. I don’t 
understand it.” 

“I know nothing about Roger Dunham. 
And it seems rather strange for you to question 
me, when you yourself informed me, not long 
ago, that he had fallen a victim to the wiles of ‘ a 
pretty Jewess.’ ” And the fair speaker looked 
across the table at her brother with a scornful 
curling of her lip. 

“Sure enough. I’d quite forgotten that. I 
haven’t seen Roger in some time, but I’ve been 
busy and haven’t thought much about it. But, 
Elf, you must n’t be down-hearted because of 
what I told you. It was probably only one of 
Roger’s passing fancies. I don’t suppose that 
he — ” 

“Oh, you needn’t make any apologies for 
your friend,” interrupted the sister, her blue eyes 
flashing with vexation; “we can get on quite 
well for as long a time as he finds it agreeable to 
absent himself. We are none of us bound up in 


30 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

him; and if he ends by tying himself to a Jewess 
for life, why, I suppose we shall all do our polite 
duty and go to the synagogue to see him married. 
Or don’t they marry in their synagogues?” she 
added, with a harsh little laugh. 

‘ ‘ Why !’ ’ exclaimed Mrs. Brand, in her pleas- 
ant way, “I hope it hasn’t quite come to that. 
Roger Dunham belongs too much to us to be al- 
lowed to go off and commit any wild deed of folly. 
The poor young fellow has no mother to talk to 
him, and his aunt — well, I imagine he doesn’t 
confide in her much.” 

“And so mother will take it upon herself to 
inquire into Roger’s doings when he next comes 
here, and to interpose her gentle influence between 
him and any girl of base blood who has wpven 
her wily snares about his heart. ’ ’ 

Theo laughed good-naturedly as he said this, 
and his father remarked that he hoped Dunham 
would soon come in, as he was eager to “see the 
thing done.” 

Dunham did come in sooner than any one had 
expected. Young Brand, however, had gone out, 
and his sister felt relieved at this. She did not 
care to hear his good-humored banter; she thought 
a dignified greeting of Roger would be better; in 
fact, an ignoring of his long absence would have 
pleased her, though she scarcely hoped for that 


THE BRAND FAMIRY. 3I 

with her mother in the room who was so partial 
to the young man. 

Roger w’as quiet and pleasant as usual. One 
could find no fault in his demeanor. He was the 
amiable, agreeable American gentleman, watch- 
ful of others’ interests, considerate of others’ 
wishes and feelings, willing to “make talk” if 
topics failed, ready with kind and complimentary 
remarks, fully furnished with the views of the 
day and with an opinion regarding the latest 
work of fiction or of poetry, altogether the “first- 
rate fellow” whom American men and women 
like and whom American girls are quite willing 
to marry. 

Is there anything more to be desired, any- 
thing higher, nobler? Some feeling that there 
might be things greater and better had been awa- 
kened in Roger Dunham’s soul, and the warmth of 
this new feeling gave a glow to all his words and 
actions that evening. Elvina Brand saw it, 
though it was beyond her comprehension as yet. 
She was more ceremonious, more formal than 
usual, but Roger did not notice it. Something 
had given a fresh impulse to his chivalric feelings 
and all women had become to him more worthy 
of respect and consideration. 

Mrs. Brand, as the daughter had feared, taxed 
the visitor with his recent neglect of them, and 


32 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

told him very kindly how much they had missed 
him. 

Elvina was busy at that particular time over 
an intricate bit of “Kensington” embroidery,' and 
all her attention was of course concentrated upon 
that. She had nothing to say about Roger Dun- 
ham’s staying away. It was to be understood 
that that was a matter of perfect indifference to 
her. As she had given it no thought, so now she 
had no words for it. 

“You are very kind to have missed me,” an- 
swered the young man. “You have made me 
always so welcome among you that I fear I have 
learned to impose upon your kindness and to act 
as if your house were a second home to me, where 
I might come and go as suited my convenience. 
I must certainly mend my manners!” 

“Who is this young Jew that I hear your 
house has in tow?” asked Mr. Brand, exercising 
the privilege of an elderly man to cross-question 
the younger ones without measuring his words. 

“Oh, have you heard of him, sir? Deane 
Rothmann ? He is as good a young fellow as you 
ever met. And as for his being a Jew, no one 
would ever suspect it from his manner or his ap- 
pearance. ’ ’ 

“Ah, now, you needn’t tell me. I should 
know one of them a mile away!” exclaimed Mr. 


THE BRAND FAMILY. 


33 


Brand, with a coarseness which he would have 
been the first to condemn had it proceeded from 
the mouth of “a Jew.”- “It’s of no use,” he 
continued, “for a young enthusiast like you, Dun- 
ham, to take up such a cause. It’s too late in 
the day for even a plucky fellow, such as you are, 
to espouse the forlorn hope of these unpleasant 
people!” 

He began smilingly and ended emphatically, 
striking his hand upon the dainty inlaid table 
near him. It did not occur to him that as yet 
Roger had given them no sign of having “es- 
poused the forlorn cause.” He had taken that 
for granted, simply on account of the young 
man’s having spoken fairly of Deane Rothmann. 

While Roger was tryingHo restrain his vexa- 
tion at Mr. Brand’s outburst, and hiding his en- 
thusiasm for his new friend under a calm smile, 
Mrs. Brand came to the rescue, covering both her 
husband’s intemperate words and the visitor’s un- 
easy silence with the kindly and ready speech 
which rarely failed her. 

“Where did the young man get his name of 
Deane, if he is a Jew? That certainly does not 
sound like a Hebrew name. Perhaps the family 
are not all Jewish. Do you know, Roger?” 

Her gentle way and words soothed the rufiled 
young enthusiast, as she intended they should. 

3 


Roger Dunham's Cliolce. 


34 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

“ All!” thought he, “this woman is a mother 
and she understands things.” 

“I really do not know, Mrs. Brand,” he an- 
swered, “where Deane picked up his name. I 
never thought of asking him. Certainly it is not 
one belonging to that nation. They usually con- 
fine themselves to their own peculiar names, do 
they not?” 

He glanced at Elvina as if wondering why she 
did not take part in the conversation. She was 
still deeply puzzled over her apparently trouble- 
some work. 

“Why, of course!” returned Mr. Brand; “as 
a general thing they’re satisfied with Abrahams 
and Isaacs and Jacobs and all the rest right down 
the line. And it seems to me that ’s the fair thing 
for them to do.” 

Roger felt no inclination to smile at the man’s 
careless speech; for he remembered what his 
friend Youngs had said of One whose holy and 
blessed name finds a place among the others in 
that “line.” What difference did it make that 
these very people, His own people, rejected Him 
and would have none of Him ? He was none the 
less descended from that patriarch whose memory 
they revered. 

Apparently Elvina’s interest was aroused at 
last, for it was she who spoke now. ‘ ‘ Oh, I dare 


THE BRAND FAMILY. 


35 


say, papa, those creatures will steal names as well 
as deceive in other ways. That is also in their 
‘ line.’ But all the Christian names in the world 
cannot change one of their features or lighten 
their complexion.” 

“Papa” laughed loudly in response to his 
daughter’s sarcasm. He evidently considered it 
good and regarded her as a very witty girl. 

But again the mother interfered with her 
gentle words. “Oh, well, Klvy, people do not 
name themselves, you know. And parents have 
their own peculiar notions in naming a child. So 
many things are to be taken into consideration. 
One should not censure hastily.” 

Roger Dunham was so surprised, so saddened, 
indeed, to hear a gentle-looking young lady utter 
such hard things that he sat dumb before her. 
He bent his head in thought, and an awkward 
little silence fell upon the group. “Papa” took 
up the evening paper, smiling as if amused at it 
all. Mrs. Brand feared that their young friend 
was offended, since he did not even accept her 
correction of her daughter. 

“You are much interested in this Mr. , 

this young Jew?” she asked, looking at Roger 
somewhat timidly as she hastened to break the 
pause, which was becoming painful to her at least. 

“Why, yes, Mrs. Brand. Every one in the 


36 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

office likes him and speaks well of him. To me 
he seems a really noble fellow, so quietly inde- 
pendent and so thoughtful for others. Where he 
got his name from I do n’t know; but he certain- 
ly has a Christian heart in the true sense of the 
word. ’ ’ 

“ Oh, Dunham, I ’m afraid you ’re becoming a 
bit of a radical!” laughed Mr. Brand. 

‘ ‘ I dare say, sir, ’ ’ returned Roger. Then he 
walked towards .the piano and asked the young 
lady if she would sing a little for him before he 
went away. 

She rose and acceded to his request. There 
was something sentimental both in her music and 
her style of singing this evening, had Roger 
Dunham been in the mood to notice it. But he 
was only courteously kind and appreciative. ' Be- 
yond that some new, mysterious influence was at 
work, and the young lady, life-long friend though 
she was, had no power to thwart or conquer it. 


A GENUINE PASTOR. 


37 


V. 

A GENUINE PASTOR. 

Deane Rothmann had taken his new friend 
to his home and there introduced him to his mo- 
ther and sister. 

It was a pleasant thing for him to do. He was 
not asked every day to grant “a favor” to hand- 
some young Gentiles by making them known to 
his mother and sister in their home life. 

As a matter of fact, most of them “passed by 
on the other side,” satisfied with a stare of admi- 
ration for the sister when she appeared on the 
public highways, but not in any wise bending 
reverent brows in homage to her beauty or her 
sex. 

Ivooking “behind the scenes,” we should 
have found that young Rothmann met with some 
opposition from his gentle sister when he sug- 
gested bringing Mr. Dunham to introduce him 
to the family ways and home. 

“But, Sara, he seemed so eager for an even- 
ing with us here, just one of our own quiet even- 
ings. I don’t think he cares for large gather- 
ings, though I dare say he has invitations enough. 


38 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

And his own home is dull; no mother, no sister, 
not even a brother, to whom he may tell the wor- 
ries and hopes of business.” 

The girl’s sweet face grew sympathetic and 
her dark eyes softer and brighter as she said, 
“Oh, well, then bring .him, Deane, and we will 
see if we can make a pleasant evening for him.” 

So Deane took him, feeling no little pleasure 
at doing so, for respect paid to his mother and 
sister always made him glad. 

And as Roger Dunham looked back upon that 
evening afterwards it seemed to him like a breath 
of something altogether sweet and sacred. There 
had been nothing perhaps worthy of note, just a 
little conversation, some passage or verse referred 
to read in soft tones, a little music, a song, an 
hour of warm home life, with the firelight glow 
over it— just that; and yet he looked back upon 
it with a new sense of the truth and beauty and 
possible joy of life. 

Foolish young fellow ! Did he tell this to 
any one — to his aunt, for instance, or to Theo 
Brand ? 

No. Strangely enough, he hid the fragrant 
memory away in a corner of his heart and went 
along his daily path a better man for it. 

Yes, the mysterious turning-point had been 
reached in Roger Dunham’s life. He had heard 


A GENUINE PASTOR. 


39 


the awakening voice and obeyed the warning. 
Whatever it was which had summoned him from 
his purposeless, selfish life of ease, he was deter- 
mined to be faithful and steadfast in the new way. 
Chiefly, I think, he considered that it was Dana 
Youngs who had urged him, both by example and 
by precept, to a nobler thought and life. 

He had gone to his old college-mate to talk 
and ask questions about a subject which had sud- 
denly aroused his curiosity, and he had found a 
true friend who did far more than merely satisfy 
that curiosity. 

The example alone of this young minister was 
an inspiration to any one who wished to see and 
understand practical Christianity. Simple in 
many of his ways as a hermit of the olden time, 
lighted by the larger wisdom of this latter age, he 
yet stood as a prince among his fellow-workers, 
and was graciously greeted by members of that 
circle of “the aristocracy” among whom he had 
not cared to choose his sphere of labor. 

“These others need me more,” he had said to 
Roger one day as he walked with him along the 
narrow, unclean, crowded streets. 

“They need some one, I grant you,” Roger 
had replied; and then he looked on wonderingly 
as his friend stopped to speak to a party of chil- 
dren, patting their heads and shaking their hands 


40 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

in a way that evidently pleased them, for they 
smiled up into his face with a sort of worshipful 
affection which was very touching. 

‘ ‘ Are they ever clean ?’ ’ Roger asked in a low 
voice as they passed on. 

“Yes, indeed. Come with me to our ‘ Indus- 
trial School ’ some day and you will see, or to our 
Sunday-school and church on Sunday.” 

And Roger had discovered that his friend was 
settled in the very centre of a Jewish population, 
in the “hotbed,” as he called it, “of that belief 
which is hardest perhaps of all wrong creeds to 
uproot. ’ ’ 

Did he know it when he accepted the posi- 
tion? Yes, certainly. He had felt that his work 
would be that of a “home missionary,” a difficult 
and, doubtless, a thankless office. 

“ But think, Dunham, if I were the means of 
turning but two or three souls from error, what a 
joy it would be!” he said, his face glowing with 
an enthusiasm which was not the feeling of the 
moment, but an outflow from the clear spring of 
love for Christ and human souls which lay spark- 
ling beneath all his efforts. 

“Is there the same scorn and prejudice here 
among this brotherhood of the poor as there is in 
higher circles against the Jews?” asked Roger. 
“ Because, I declare to you, Dana, that a series of 


A GENUINE PASTOR. 41 

very plain, strong sermons should be preached to 
those whom I daily meet on the sin they commit 
in hating and scoffing at these poor countryless 
people. ’ ’ 

“ I know it, Dunham, I know it. Yes, and it 
is as much worse here as ignorance and coarse 
living can make it. Even among the little chil- 
dren yon will hear the rude word of scorn, the 
taunt, and the ungenerous refusal ‘ to play with 
that Jew thing!’ It would be laughable, were it 
not so sorrowful, to see a rough little creature, 
who crosses herself superstitiously at the mention 
of some obscure ‘saint’ of whom she knows noth- 
ing at all, turn away with lofty scorn from a little 
Israelite. Poor creatures! they need (as, indeed, 
who of us does not?) to learn that large love of 
Christ which covers all differences of creed and 
makes one family over all God’s earth.” 

Mr. Youngs’ largest hope was centred in these 
very children. Most people would have called it 
a “forlorn hope,” but he did not. In youth the 
mind and heart are more pliable, more easily 
moulded. The affections are truer and less sor- 
did. 

Already this young minister had gained the 
love and respect of many of those wretched little 
ones. It mattered not to him, so far as his free 
gifts of good-will and kindness were concerned, 


42 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

what belief the little child had been taught to call 
his or her own. His pleasant smile was for every- 
one; his kind word and the touch of his hand had 
made them all happier on many a day. 

Whatever he could do for them in any way he 
was always ready to do. In sickness, dn sorrow, 
in worldly trouble or perplexity, he stood ready, 
and not one ever appealed to him in vain. Into 
many a home had he ventured on errands of mer- 
cy, and rarely had met with any act or word of 
rudeness from the inmates. 

“Certainly never from any Jew have I received 
a rebuff,” he said, smiling at Roger. “ And yet 
there is an old Jew against whom I am warned, 
but he is the very one whom I am making myself 
ready to encounter.” 

Roger laughed and asked what the “making 
ready” consisted of. 

A flush touched the cheek of the young min- 
ister as he thought a moment and then replied, 
“ I give myself unto prayer.” 

Roger Dunham was silent. He longed for the 
simple, sincere piety of this friend of his. 

“He has a little granddaughter, the old man 
of whom I speak, a very interesting child, in whose 
heart the true belief has taken root and will grow 
to bear precious fruit some day if she lives. But 
her grandfather is either hard-hearted or he does 


A GENUINE PASTOR. 43 

not know what a delicate frame the child has. In 
truth, I think he cares only for his money-bags.” 

“That’s what they say of all the race, you 
know,” said Dunham. 

“Well, it may be true, but I hardly think so. 
The love of money-getting is an evil common to 
the whole human race. We are all more or less 
guilty, I suppose, in that respect. This old man 
pretends to need the earnings of his granddaugh- 
ter, but he is universally called ‘a miser,’ and I 
fear it is only too true a name for him.” 

“ And do you mean to say that this little girl 
works to earn money for that old scoundrel!” ex- 
claimed Roger indignantly. 

“That is exactly what she does, poor little 
thing! There is an immense store a few blocks 
from here — Davids’; perhaps you have heard of 
it — where a large number of these girls are em- 
ployed in the various departments. It is there 
that little Becca works, and the hours and the 
‘ rules ’ are enough to wear out a much stronger 
child.” 

“ But does n’t the girl attend school ?” 

“ She tries to attend the evening class that I 
have started for the younger ones. But more than 
half the time she is unable to be there through 
weariness or illness. I must certainly see the old 
man soon.” 


44 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

Roger Dunham’s mind was in a perplexed tur- 
moil of anger, surprise, and doubt. What! was 
he espousing the cause of such a people ? And 
yet — and yet there came persistently back to his 
memory that vision of the fair sad face with its 
appealing eyes. If the old man represented in an 
exaggerated fashion one type of Jewish character 
(and that, as his friend had suggested, not Jewish 
character alone), were there not in Deane Roth- 
mann and his sister noble traits of mental excel- 
lence, of refinement, and of benevolence, which 
had been exemplified over and over, through the 
Christian centuries, by men and women of the 
Hebrew race ? 

Roger grew very silent as he meditated upon 
it all walking by the clergyman’s side. His friend 
would not interrupt his musings; he knew that no 
harm could come to a prosperous young man from 
thinking upon the adversities and needs of oth- 
ers. 

But when Roger turned to leave him and said, 
“Dana, can’t I help you in your work here — in 
your schools or visiting or anything?” he clasped 
his hand warmly and answered, 

“Yes, Dunham, of course you can'! And I 
shall count it a white day in your calendar as well 
as mine when you deny yourself some idle hour of 
ease or some happy evening of social intercourse 


A GENUINE PASTOR. 45 

to come here and try to do something for my poor 
people. ’ ’ • 

Roger quietly and half shyly put a little roll of 
bills into his friend’s hand as he took it at part- 
ing. “You must have much need of that sort 
too,” he said, “and you needn’t thank me. 
What sort of a world is it if a man shouldn’t 
count it a pleasant duty to help his unfortunate 
brethren ?’ ’ 

Ah, the blessed leaven was beginning to work 
in Roger Dunham’s heart. When a man, young, 
courted in society, and well to do, calls the poor 
his brethren, with such a practical manifestation 
of his sincerity, he has taken a great step towards 
the following of that divine Master who himself 
became our brother in human poverty and toil 
that he might make us sharers in his heavenly 
riches. 


46 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


VI. 

THE POOR SHOP-GIRE. 

“Grandfather, it ’s so dark and cold !” 

“Well, child, it wont stay dark and cold. 
When you ’ ve eaten your warm breakfast it ’ll be 
light enough. Do n’ t murmur. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I get so tired ; I wish I could stay at home a 
day and rest. ’ ’ 

She did not say it in a fretful voice, but rather 
as if it were an utterly hopeless idea and she knew 
it to be so. A sadness whose depth was heart- 
rending spoke through the meek little utterance. 

Neither was the response an angry or harsh 
one, but so completely devoid of any tender feel- 
ing that it chilled the listener’s inmost soul. 

“ ‘ Stay home a day,’ child ! Why, how fool- 
ish ! when all your young companions will be 
there, and here is only an old man and a dull 
room. Listen, Becca. A’ n’t you willing to work 
for the old grandfather who has done so much for 
you ? The law of Moses commands the children 
to have respect and care for their elders. ’ ’ 

At these last words the child started with a 
look of interest and was about to speak, but the 


THE POOR SHOP-GIRE. 47 

old man went right on, taking no notice of her 
effort. 

“And in that law I brought up your mother; 
but she forgot it all as she grew older. Listen 
well, Becca. Your mother left the way of her 
fathers, despised Moses’ law, and strayed off 
among the Gentiles. Is it any wonder that she 
died before the allotted time — that she and her 
husband were both visited with sickness and trou- 
ble? And you, Becca, you are left to atone for 
your mother’s wrong. Will you murmur because 
your old grandfather requires you to work for 
him — asks your youth to earn what his old age 
cannot?” 

“No, no, grandfather, I wont murmur. I’m 
glad to work for you, if only I can keep well 
enough and not get so tired.” 

The child’s eyes filled with tears and her little 
face was eager and tender. The old man had 
worked well upon her affectionate nature. 

Yet there was something even beyond that — 
something working in her young spirit which was 
stronger than nature, even grace, the wonderful 
grace of God. 

She prepared their breakfast and ate her own 
quickly, for the darkness had indeed fled and the 
morning sun was brightening the world for the 
toilers. 


48 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

Ah, at least there is no difference in this: poor 
as well as rich, the weary laborer as well as the 
man of leisure, fresh and serene, all stand alike in 
this glory of the blessed sunshine. Even upon 
“the evil,” with their burden of guilt, upon the 
restless couch of the sinner, and into the haunt of 
shame, flashes this radiance, the free gift of a lov- 
ing, seeking Father. 

Wearily little Becca plodded up the steps of 
the great “popular store.” 

“Hurry along !” said the stern “ time- taker ” 
as he noted Becca’ s two minutes of grace. He 
was the machine of the place; and verily a ma- 
chine had he become through all his nature. No 
little one, at least, ventured to offer him any ex- 
cuse for a minute’s tardiness. What had he to do 
with excuses ? He was placed there to take their 
time. If they were late it was not his affair. 

And yet there were some who dared affirm one 
to another that if “a pretty young lady on the 
lower floor ’ ’ were late, it was passed over and no 
one was the wiser. 

Perhaps it was so; we all have our weak 
points. 

Poor little Becca “hurried on” to her place. 
It had never been a very happy place, yet she had 
been quietly cheerful and contented there until 
of late, since the girls had found out or suspected 


THE POOR SHOP-GIRE. 


49 

that she had been ‘ ‘ among the Christians. ’ ’ From 
that moment there had been no peace for poor 
little Becca. 

It was even harder than usual for her this 
morning, for her heart was all stirred and glow- 
ing with the thought of her mother, that dear, 
unknown mother who had gone away from earth 
so soon and left her little girl to hearts less loving 
and hands less gentle. 

All her short life since she became old enough 
to frame a wish or a thought had been filled with 
one great longing for a mother and with wonder- 
ing fancies about that mother of whom no one 
spoke to her and of whom she knew nothing. 

Once or twice she had questioned her grand- 
father; but he only answered, “Hush, child; 
there’s nothing for you to know. Your mother 
died when you were a baby.” 

His stern manner took away her small cour- 
age, and so she had given up all hope of learning 
anything of either father or mother. 

She did not know what had prompted him to 
say the little he had said that morning; but eager- 
ly had she accepted the meagre information, and 
little guessed the old man how sweet to her was 
the knowledge that her mother had been ‘ ‘ one of 
the Christians.” Of all the things that might 
have been told her about her lost mother, this 

Roger Dunham's Choice. ^ 


50 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

was best and dearest; this would be the glad truth 
which she would treasure deep in her heart to 
help and comfort all her life. 

So the old man’s miserly bit of information 
had proved a well-spring, to which the thirsting 
young heart could return again and again. 

She was eager to drink of this source of com- 
fort that morning as she hastened to her duties, 
regardless for once of the time- taker’s rough 
words. But, alas, she was not to be allowed to 
dwell in peace on the sweet thought! Her young 
companions, eager, with thoughtless cruelty, for 
anything that could yield them “fun,” or with 
deliberate malice indulging their own race-hatrM 
for “Christian” ways, noted immediately the lit- 
tle glow of wondering pleasure and tender rev- 
erence which shone all over her usually quiet 
face. 

“She’s been to a Christian meetin’, I do be- 
lieve !” 

“Have you now, Becky? Tell us all about 
it, then.” 

“Oh, hush, please, Tilly, and let me do my 
work. There’ll be lots of fine ladies in pretty 
soon, it’s such a beautiful day.” 

“ Well, can’t you talk and work too?” 

“Of course she can’t. Those Christian peo- 
ple wont let her.” 


THE POOR SHOP-GIRP. 


51 


“ Oh, she wants to do twice as much work, so 
that Mr. Davids wont turn her off when he finds 
out. I know.” 

“O Naomi!” said Becca in a soft, reproach- 
ful voice, looking up with her eyes full of 
tears. 

“Well,” answered the girl with the sweet 
name, “is n’t it true ? Don’t you feel scared for 
fear he’ll find out?” 

“Why, there isn’t anything to ‘find out.’ 
Mr. Davids knows all about me. ’ ’ 

“Will you children stop your chattering and 
attend to your work?” called a harsh female 
voice. 

And then the cries of “ Cash !” “ Cash 1” be- 
gan, calling ofi one and another. 

There were no idle hands, no wasted minutes, 
in that establishment of Mr. Davids’. There 
were the “regular” jobs and there were the 
“odd” jobs to be done by these same cash girls 
in their spare moments. 

They were not forbidden to talk together, it is 
true; perhaps it would have been better for them 
if they had been. Neither were they hindered 
from listening while the older girls at the coun- 
ters talked and jested; and that indeed would 
often have been far better for them. What won- 
der that they learned much that was more harm- 


52 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

ful to them than any amount of ignorance could 
have been ? What wonder that their eager young 
minds drank in the poison which would corrupt 
thought and feeling? What wonder that their 
young lives, scantily visited by sweet influences 
and pure sentiment, caught readily at false ro- 
mance and wrong sentiment ? What wonder that 
sometimes pure and true women waiting at the 
counter grew sad and longed to set the lives of all 
the poor girls to a sweeter tune? What wonder 
that Dana Youngs, passing along those streets 
morning and night, prayed for “more grace,” 
that he might know how best to reach out to all 
this poor, toiling, burdened humanity and save 
some souls ! 

It was some kind word or deed of his which 
had first drawn lonely little Becca towards the 
right. She had longed to know inore from one 
who spoke so and cared so. She had gone first 
to the ev^ening class. No one objected so long as 
she performed her daily tasks punctually and 
well. 

“I’d like to learn figures, grandfather. Then 
maybe I can get to be a cashier some day. Would 
not that be nice? I could earn a lot of money 
then.” 

“Yes, yes,” he assented. Earning “a lot of 
money ” was altogether to his mind. 


THE POOR SHOP-GIRL. 


53 


So Becca had gone for an hour each evening 
to the clergyman’s class while her grandfather 
dozed or counted over his money. He had never 
kept a strict watch over his grandchild nor over 
her movements out of the money-making hours. 
She was too dutiful to neglect him; and so long 
as she was faithful at her daily work and brought 
home her earnings he was satisfied. 

Then the blessed Sundays had helped to the 
next step: the days on which there was no work, 
when Becca was at liberty to take a little rest or 
a little pleasure. She had often heard her grand- 
father, with some of his occasional visitors, grum- 
ble at the “ Christian Sunday,” which was a lost 
day to them ; but she had no fault to find with it, 
this one day out of all the busy week when she 
might regard her own pleasure a little, rest her 
tired hands, and think her own wondering 
thoughts. 

It was on one of these Sundays — a bright win- 
ter day — that she had wandered out to enjoy the 
sunshine and to watch the throngs of happy- 
faced children who passed up and down the av- 
enue. 

She walked on slowly behind one group until 
they disappeared within the doors of a Christian 
church. Becca lingered, seemingly spellbound, 
about those gates. Why was she different from 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


54 

those who went in there to worship? Was not 
the great God the same to all ? 

It was while she stood there wondering about 
these things that the minister had found her and 
had spoken so kindly to her. She could not re- 
frain from putting her questions to him, she want- 
ed so much to know; and he had said to her, 

“My child, the Messiah came long ago, and 
it is that which makes our hearts so glad and so 
contented. lyisten. ’ ’ 

The children within were singing, 

“Jesus loves me : well I know it; 

For to save my soul he died. 

He for me bore pain and sorrow, 

Nailed hands and pierced side.” 

“ For you, my child, for you ! And wont you 
love One who loves you so ?’ ’ 

“Forme! iormeP'' repeated the child softly 
and wonderingly. “ Could I go in and hear 
about him ?’’ 

“Certainly, if your people at home wont be 
anxious about you.” 

“Oh, there’s only grandfather, and he wont 
mind.” 

So the clergyman took her by the hand, and 
Becca went in to hear the story of the great King 
who had come to his people so long ago, and who 
had taken the little ones in his arms and blessed 


THE POOR SHOP-GIRL. 55 

them. With childish faith Becca took in the 
truth and wondered why every one did not be- 
lieve it. 

She went home and wept that night in her 
lonely little bed because she had not seen that 
great King who was so gentle and so loving. 


5 ^ 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


VII. 

THE YOUNG DISCIPLE. 

IvITTLE Becca’s knowledge grew, and, like a 
sweet flower, fllled her life with fragrance and 
beauty. She felt as if she had a treasure which 
she must hide from the gaze of some who would 
not properly appreciate it. The thought puzijled 
her at times whether she ought not to tell her 
companions and let them share the joy. She 
could not quite solve the problem; she was too 
young for anything but the simple believing. 

But while she tried to settle the question her 
fellow- workers found her out. And then she was 
persecuted on all sides. Those who were not of 
her race continued to taunt her with the name of 
“Jew girl,” and those of her own nation looked 
upon her with scorn because they heard that she 
had been seen at one of the “Christian meet- 
ings.” Some of them, indeed, shared the advan- 
tages of the same evening classes, but it was only 
“ head knowledge,” not instruction of the heart, 
which they cared for and sought. 

Becca had sometimes wondered if her grand- 
father did not know, if he had not heard of what 


THE YOUNG DISCIPUE. 


57 


she had done. But he never said anything that 
had a bearing on the' subject until that morning 
when he first told her that her mother had “for- 
saken the ways of her fathers and married a Gen- 
tile.” 

Then her trembling had been more for a sweet 
surprise and joy than for any fear of her grand- 
father. All that day and for long afterwards it 
seemed to her that her mother’s spirit was hover- 
ing about her and pleading with her to love the 
great King who had come so long ago, not to wait 
for him as though he had not yet come, but to 
think of what was told about him and to be ready 
to understand more. 

So the child went walking in a sweet dream, 
as it were, fulfilling her daily tasks with her yearn- 
ing little heart lifted to that higher sphere where 
dwelt the mother she had never known, and where 
she trusted to be herself at some time and find all 
mysteries solved, all troubles for ever set at rest. 

But neither her faithfulness nor her hope, nor 
even the sweet tokens of the opening springtime, 
could keep her in strength of body sufficient for 
the daily routine. She was very brave, but her 
courage was greater than her strength. She could 
not understand it; it troubled her that she found 
her work more and more wearying; that she did 
not rise on those soft spring mornings refreshed 


58 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

and vigorous and with ability to run about from 
one little task to another; that she could not eat 
her breakfast with the old relish; and that all 
through the long day she felt herself longing for 
the time to stop work and reach the repose of her 
own little bed. 

Poor child! so willing, yet so unable to carry 
out her will. Her grandfather would fret at her 
for not wanting her breakfast. He did not un- 
derstand, either. What right had a child to be 
ailing and losing appetite ? He never did so when 
he was a child. Indeed, he did not do so even 
now. He could eat his three meals a day with 
much relish. He was not sick now, only his eye- 
sight had failed him greatly, and he therefore 
could not attend to business. And was it not WTit- 
ten in the Hebrew law that the children should 
care for their elders ? 

So it was right that Becca, “young and 
strong,” should work for him. He had cared for 
her ever since her mother left her a wailing infant 
on his hands. And as he argued thus he actually 
felt aggrieved that the child should have become 
so undutiful as to lose her appetite and grow pale 
and sickly. What could he do ? 

When Becca stayed away from the evening 
class the clergyman did not wait long before he 
sought her in her own home. 


THE YOUNG DISCIPEE. 59 

He was not surprised to find her ill; indeed, 
he had wondered how she had kept up so long, 
how she had managed to care for her grandfather 
and to keep the little home so neat. It was quite 
a labor for a child in health and strength. Cer- 
tainly Becca had neither health nor strength just 
now, but she had a very loving spirit and a sense 
of the fitness of things which would have done 
credit to a much older person. 

The clergyman wondered if she might not 
have inherited something of this nature from that 
“ Christiau father” of whom the old Jew spoke 
so bitterly, and whose very name Becca was not 
permitted to bear. 

Becca was very glad to see her good friend 
come in. She felt that somehow he would help 
her, for she was in sore trouble, and she had not 
yet learned that lesson, which the oldest Christians 
are so slow to learn, of casting all care upon One 
who is very loving and mighty to help and save. 

“Well, Becca, you were not at school last 
evening,” said Mr. Youngs, taking the thin little 
hand in his own and smiling down at the glad 
face. “ Did your grandfather need you?” 

“Oh, no, sir. Grandfather, here is Mr. 
Youngs,” she said as the old man looked up from 
his nap, rubbed his eyes, and tried to recollect 
himself. 


6o 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

“Mr. Youngs? Oh, yes, I remember. Sit 
down, sir, and excuse an old man for not rising. 
Becca — did you come to see Becca ?’ ’ 

“I came to see Becca and you too, if you will 
allow me. Your little granddaughter does not 
seem at all well.” 

“Not well? Ah, I notice that she doesn’t 
eat as a child should, and she seems to have lost 
her ambition. Why, Mr. Davids used to say that 
Becca was worth three ordinary girls, she was so 
quick and busy. But I fear he couldn’t say that 
now. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Have you had a physician to see her ? I 
think perhaps she only needs a little rest, and 
after that a change of air, which I think we can 
arrange for her if you will allow us. ’ ’ 

The old man nearly rose out of his armchair 
in his astonishment and dismay. “And pray, 
sir, what ’s her poor old grandfather to do while 
all that ’s going on ?” 

“Isn’t there some person whom you could 
hire to take charge of your housekeeping for a 
while till Becca is strong again ? It cannot be 
very heavy work, since little Becca has done it 
always so well,” he added, smiling approvingly 
at the child, who lay back on her chair pale and 
trembling, shaken now and then by a dry cough. 

“ ‘ Hire’?” screamed the old man. “ ‘ Hire,’ 


THE YOUNG DISCIPLE. 6l 

« 

did you say ? And where am I to get money to 
hire with, I should like to know, a poor lonely 
old man ?’ ’ 

He took out his handkerchief, but his grief 
was secondary to his money-scare and was not 
very touching. Dana Youngs was not a hard- 
hearted man, though he had seen much of the 
deceitfulness of the world and worldly people, yet 
he could scarcely repress a smile at the sight of 
the old man’s face, so sly in its expression of 
alarm. 

“Well, at any rate, you will let me send a 
physician, I hope ? That shall be at my own ex- 
pense, and we will see what he says ought to be 
done. She is a brave, good girl, this little grand- 
daughter of yours, sir, and I want to see her well 
and strong again.” 

Having given a reluctant consent for a physi- 
cian to be brought in, the old man passed into 
dreamland again, seeming not to take any more 
interest in the visitor. 

So Mr. Youngs talked to the child about the 
coming springtime and about the country homes 
to which so many sick children are sent every 
summer by those who are better off and kind- 
hearted. He reminded her too of what she had 
learned about Jesus, the kind Physician of souls, 
and bade her trust herself to his care. 


62 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

♦ 

Then he went away, promising to send a doc- 
tor the next day. Becca followed him out to the 
door with an eager look in her face, and said softly 
. to him, “O sir, I have read all about it — how they 
crueified him, the good King. It makes me so 
sorry! And they were Jews, too, his very own 
people!” 

She spoke in a low voice, with her breath 
coming quickly and tears in her dark eyes which 
were raised to the clergyman’s. 

“Did you read it all, my child? I am very 
glad of that. And you know it is true, all true? 
He was the King, the Saviour whom God had 
promised to his people. We will not refuse to 
receive him, will we, Becca?” 

“No, sir. I like to think it is all true, that 
he really did come so long ago. And — ” her 
voice sank to a trembling whisper — “ when I pray 
to him, as you said I might, I feel as if he was 
close by me listening.” 

“He is, my child, very close always. So 
don’t cease to pray. We will talk more of this 
when I come again. Now you must go and 
rest. ’ ’ 

For she was almost panting for breath, and on 
her thin cheek the color came and went in little 
waves. 

He was puzzled — this clergyman who had 


run YOUNG DISCIPUE. 63 

been through many a difficult scene and encoun- 
tered many strange people — he was puzzled as to 
how he should disclose to the old Hebrew grand- 
father the fact of Becca’s having found the Mes- 
siah. He had seen enough to prove to him that 
the child was in earnest, that she really under- 
stood and believed the truth. He had noticed the 
eager way in which she had listened to the read- 
ing of the gospel story in her visits to the Chris- 
tian Sunday-school, and he had striven to help 
her, so that she might feel she was right in ac- 
cepting this Saviour, even though she had been 
brought up to think that the true Messiah had not 
yet come to reign over his people. 

But Becca grew worse, and the old man 
moaned and complained. The doctor said that 
she ought to be in a hospital, where she could 
receive needed care and get proper rest. 

A friendly Jewish neighbor offered to look 
after the grandfather in this emergency, and the 
child trusted herself wholly to the minister who 
had shown such an interest in her. 

Mr. Youngs took pains to explain to the 
grandfather that the hospital was free, and that 
there would be no doctor’s bills to pay if Becca 
were there. 

“ Does it belong to the Christians?” asked the 
wary old man. 


64 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


“ It belongs to all who are sick and have none 
to take care of them — to Jews as well as to Chris- 
tians. And you can go in to see your grand- 
daughter once or twice a week.” 

The grandfather shook his head and sighed 
mournfully, as if that were quite impossible for 
one so feeble as he. But Becca went to the hos- 
pital. And this brought about several results, 
which doubtless each bore a part in the divine 
plan. 


seeking for eight. 


65 


VIII. 

seeking for eight. 

‘‘Wont you go to Mrs. Cohen’s ball, Sara?” 

“Not unless you wish it very much, Deane. 
I tire so of these parties and balls. I don’t seem 
to get the enjoyment that many girls find in such 
things. I dare say I am very stupid.” 

Sara smiled, looking up into her brother’s 
face. But when he put his arm affectionately 
around her and drew her to him, the tears sprang 
to her eyes and her lips quivered. 

“Oh, Deane, it is so hard! Why is it? Will 
there never be an end, a change? If there is One 
to come and give us the blessing, I wish — Oh, 
why does he not come?” 

“ Sara,” her brother replied in a firm, serious 
tone, “you and I are no longer children. We 
cannot be led and governed as those who have no 
power of thinking and judging for themselves. 
Let us look this thing fairly in the face. I know 
that you are unhappy in this the best time of your 
life, when other girls are gay and joyous; that 
you are walking in doubt and misgiving and per- 
plexity. It grieves me for you. Why should it 
be? May not we judge for ourselves and choose 

5 


Roger Dunham’s Choice. 


66 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


that which seems best? I^et us search, and strive 
to satisfy this cry and need of our souls; and if 
our convictions lead us to the adoption of that 
mode of religion and life which would bring us 
into sympathy with the good and noble of the na- 
tion in which our lot is cast, and we need feel 
ourselves no longer aliens whom the land w’ould 
fain cast out, who shall blame us if we feel that 
that too would be well ?” 

There was a great longing in his tone. And 
his sister saw how he, too, had suffered; how he 
had been over all the ground that she herself had 
traversed, and had grown heart- weary at the hope 
which, being so long delayed, seemed scarcely a 
hope at all. It gladdened her to know" that here 
at least she had one who fully understood and 
could appreciate all her trouble. Her mother was 
firm in the faith of her forefathers, so serene and 
so comfortable in her belief that Sara hesitated to 
disturb her with one word or token of her own 
perplexity and unhappiness. 

She looked into her brother’s face and saw 
how worn it was w"ith anxiety and doubt. She 
remembered the passage in Isaiah w"here the 
prophet speaks of One bearing the griefs and car- 
rying the sorrows and sins of the people of God, 
for she had read it often lately and pondered much 
over it. She found it unspeakably winning and 


seeking for light. 


67 

comforting. And this One it was who Christians 
believed had come and in whom they found rest 
and peace. Oh, how good it would be to have 
one to lift the burden from them, to set them free 
from this wearing uncertainty and this disappoint- 
ment of hope— One to show them the truth, ah, 
yes, the truth which none could gainsay or doubt! 

And then came another thought— a thought 
born of experiences such as that which had 
wounded her on the evening of the Charity Fair, 
experiences which perhaps she should have been 
bravely indifferent to, but which nevertheless 
hurt her, as such things will hurt sensitive peo- 
ple. She gave the thought expression. 

“But, Deane, shall we ever be accorded our 
right place among Christian people? We can- 
not change our nationality. We would not if 
we could!” she added, with a proud flashing of 
her dark eyes. “ And though many travel to our 
famous land, though their ministers and the best 
men of them all seem to feel a great interest in 
our country and our history and our future, do not 
even they treat us with contempt, sit apart from 
us, and count us unworthy to associate with them ? 
I cannot see much earthly brightness for us.” 

“Oh, yes, Sara! I have better hope than 
that. For our national .name, let us bear it with 
proud fidelity. There is not a people on the 


68 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

earth that has so wonderful a history. But for 
our religion, let us search and think well and see 
if there is not a lack in the belief of our fathers. 
You and I are old enough, we have sense enough, 
to settle this matter for ourselves, giving it a fair 
and honest study. If the Messiah has come, why 
should we be guilty of the sin and folly of reject- 
ing him ? why should we miss the joy and glory 
of his reign ? Every day I ask myself this ques- 
tion: ‘Why should I, who strive to live truly and 
well among my fellow-men, to do justly and love 
mercy, to obey, as much as in me lies, the law of 
God, why should I be constrained to feel myself 
an alien, be treated as an outcast and made to 
walk aside in the shade? And, worse still, why 
should the doubt continually rise in my mind. 
Do I read the Scriptures aright ? Is there not some 
part of their meaning that I am missing — some 
point in the will of the Eternal that I am dis- 
obeying and hence cannot have rest and peace? 
There must be a wrong somewhere, my dear sis- 
ter. Now, if it is possible for us to find it let us 
do so. And if it is partly in ourselves let us right 
it.” 

Sara mused in silence for a while; then she 
asked, “Deane, is not Mr. Dunham a very good 
friend to you?” 

“He is the truest and most congenial friend 


seeking for eight. 69 

that I have in the world,” he answered with en- 
thusiasm; yet he wondered why she asked. 

‘ ‘ I was wondering if you might speak with 
him about this.” 

“Perhaps — some time,” he replied, doubtful- 
ly. “ Dunham has a friend, a clergyman, whom 
I will go and listen to some day. He has a church 
somewhere in the neighborhood of Rabbi Isaacs’ 
synagogue. If I find it a good and helpful thing 
I will ask you to go with me another time. Oh, 
Sara, may the God of our fathers guide and direct 
us in this thing and keep us from going wrong!” 

“Amen!” responded the girl with much fer- 
vor. 

After a few more words the brother and sister 
separated. He went to his daily routine of busi- 
ness duties and she to the light household tasks 
in which she assisted her mother. Rather late in 
the afternoon of the long spring day she went out 
upon errands of mercy, which often occupied 
much of her time. 

On this day her thoughts turned persistently 
towards the rabbi of whom her brother had spo- 
ken. She knew him quite well, for Sara Roth- 
mann’s talents, her generous deeds, and her gentle, 
loving nature, had made her a great favorite and 
a person highly esteemed by the best members of 
her race. 


70 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

Rabbi Isaacs'was a learned man, a student of 
human nature, kind, though undemonstrative and 
somewhat absorbed in his books and theories. 

“ How I wish I dared go to him and tell him 
all my thoughts and all my perplexities,” said 
Miss Rothmann to herself as she walked on, 
breathing in the soft air of the dawning spring- 
time, yet not feeling that elasticity of spirit which 
generally comes to youth at that delightful season. 
She half shuddered as she thought how the wise 
and grave Hebrew scholar would look down upon 
her as she told him of her wavering faith. How 
his smile of scorn would hurt! Had she not, then, 
any trust in the promise of the Holy One, any 
faith in the wisdom of her teachers? Was she a 
child, to want some new thing, something better 
than the religion in which her forefathers had 
lived and died ? 

All this she imagined him saying to her in 
stern, sarcastic tones, until her courage wholly 
died away. 

At that moment she heard her name spoken 
gently, hesitatingly, and looked up to find Roger 
Dunham by her side. 

“Why, Miss Rothmann, you surprise me. I 
do not quite like to see you in such a neighbor- 
hood and alone. Do you — excuse me — but are 
you accustomed to — ” He blundered and fal- 


seeking for eight. 71 

tered, taking her packages from her, however, in 
his quiet, gentlemanly way. 

She smiled brightly upon him. His presence 
was a relief, breaking in, like a gleam of sun- 
shine, upon her gloomy thoughts. 

“ Oh, yes; I am quite familiar with the place. 
There are so many here who need care and help, . 
and my time is at my own disposal, you know. 
I find a great deal of satisfaction in coming here, 
though it may sound strange to hear me say so, 
for it is an unpleasant neighborhood, and I thank 
you for your thoughtfulness.’’ 

He had scarcely ever heard her say so much 
at once. He followed each word with a keen 
sense of pleasure and appreciation. The truth 
was, she found the change from her sad medita- 
tions so cheering that it acted upon her with an 
exhilarating effect. 

As for him, he looked upon her glowing face, 
with its delicate contour and soft, dark eyes, and 
thought he had never seen anything so lovel3^ 

“Then you are verily a ‘good Samaritan,’ 
Miss Rothmann. For I know from my friend 
who has a church in this neighborhood that there 
are many poor and needy here.” 

His friend would have smiled, no doubt, at his 
use of the term “Samaritan” in commending a 
Jewish young lady. But Roger thought not, at 


72 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

that moment, of Jew or Gentile or any other pe- 
culiar people. He was wholly absorbed in the 
sweet face of the girl at his side. 

‘‘ Oh, then that is the clergyman of whom my 
brother was speaking this morning!” she ex- 
claimed, the light again breaking over her face 
and a deeper color following it as she recalled the 
conversation with her brother. 

“Very probably, as I have often spoken of 
him to your brother. I wish that you and he 
might both know my friend. He is a man worth 
knowing. I am sure you would like him.” 

“ Does he work among the poor here?” 

“Yes; he is a tireless worker. There is no 
end to his labors and plans for the improvement 
of the people. I wonder if you have not heard of 
his evening classes, etc. ?” 

“Yes; I have heard of them. But the need 
which has called me here has been chiefly among 
my own people, and so I have not learned as much 
as I otherwise might.” 

She spoke in a slightly lower tone and her face 
became graver and sadder. Roger Dunham noted 
the change with quick sympathy; but he only 
said quietly, “Then perhaps you will let me tell 
you of a case in which my friend is greatly inter- 
ested, and which will certainly claim your sym- 
pathy as it has mine.” 


SEEKING FOR EIGHT. 


73 

She expressed a wish to hear of it, and he told 
her, in as few words as possible, of little Becca 
Nathan: of how hard a little worker she had been 
in the large store; that she had been taken ill, 
and was then at the Charity Hospital. 

Miss Rothmann immediately expressed a wish 
to see the child and to do anything for her which 
might be allowed. She said that she had often 
visited the hospital and knew her way quite well. 

“ But you will let me have the pleasure of ac- 
companying you, wont you?” he asked. “I 
was on my way to my friend’s, but I had no spe- 
cial errand, and I am interested in this child my- 
self.” 

Then she acquiesced without further contro- 
versy, and they went on together through the 
noisy, crowded streets; and for the first time since 
he had been in the habit of walking there did 
Roger Dunham go without any thought of the 
crowd or the noise or the dust or any of the un- 
pleasant things which made those streets differ 
from his accustomed places of resort when busi- 
ness hours were over. 


74 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


IX. 

IN THE CHARITY HOSPITAE. 

Very little things turn us aside, one way or 
another, in our daily goings, things unforeseen, 
things unexpected, events which we call “acci- 
dents,” sudden occurrences which we speak of as 
“happening.” 

Are not they all sent and ordered by One 
whose plan for our life is beyond our little com- 
prehension ? Does not his own wise and gracious 
hand mark out every step for us for our own 
highest good ? 

And shall we say of this that it “ chanced un- 
fortunately,” or of another thing that it was a 
“happy accident ” ? Rather let us regard all our 
life’s events and changes as of God’s own ordain- 
ing and strive to follow on with patience and 
‘ ‘ full assurance of faith. ’ ’ 

A few weeks before Roger Dunham would 
have spoken of his meeting with Miss Rothmann 
as a “very strange coincidence,” of his deter- 
mination to visit Mr. Youngs on that very day as 
“a most mysterious thing.” But now some new 
influence was gaining a powerful hold on him. 


IN THE CHARITY HOSPITAL. 


75 


He recogni:ced more clearly the fact that a Higher 
Power was ordering all lives; that on him, in his 
easy, careless going, a restraining hand had been 
laid, and that it would be well for him to walk 
here or there according as it led. 

He did not now give much thought to the ap- 
parent strangeness of his having met Miss Roth- 
mann just then and there. He was thinking 
with some genuine unselfishness of the gain that 
her friendship and ministry would be to little 
Becca, the child of her own nation. 

So they went on together, through the busy 
uproar of the streets, to the great doors of the 
Charity Hospital. 

Roger Dunham had only lately been growing 
familiar with such a place, and he stepped with a 
sort of awe along the wide, polished floors, through 
the long, still corridors, as they passed to the 
“Children’s Ward.” He wondered at the bright- 
ness of the face at his side as he looked down and 
saw it. 

“I always love to visit the little children,” 
Sara said, as if she understood his thought. “It 
is so easy to make their hearts glad and to m.ake 
them forget their physical pain and discomfort. ’ ’ 

So then he knew why her face had grown so 
tenderly bright. He soon saw too that she had 
come where she was known and loved. The por- 


76 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

ters, the nurses, everywhere greeted her with re- 
spect. And when the children saw her many of 
them called out a joyful welcome. 

It was a pretty sight as the young man stood 
to watch it. Some from the little white beds 
reached out eager arms towards the lady visitor, 
lifting up white, pathetic faces as she bent ten- 
derly over them. Others, in all stages of recov- 
ery, who were sitting or playing quietly, hurried 
to meet her, and those who felt best acquainted 
had much to say. 

When the first greetings were over and she 
turned to ask Mr. Dunham to show her which 
was little Becca, she saw that he was standing by 
the child’s bedside. 

“Becca, this is the lady who has come to see 
you,” he said, moving aside as she came up. 

As she talked with the child he listened in 
silent amazement. Surely they must have met 
before. There was no process of “getting ac- 
quainted,” no backward timidity or delay in an- 
swering on the part of the little girl. They 
seemed at once to grasp the situation: one was 
sent to minister, one was laid there to accept the 
ministrations, and both were under the guidance 
and direction of a supreme, loving Power. It 
was beautiful to watch the childish face, from 
which the hue of life and health was fading so 


IN THE CHARITY HOSPITAR. 77 

fast, as it brightened under the presence and the 
words of the visitor. 

Yes, ma’am; I heard them speaking of you, 
oh, ever so many times, and I hoped you would 
come. Rosina said she knew you would if I 
prayed that you might. So I did pray, in her 
way too.” 

“And what is Rosina’ s way of praying, dear?” 
asked Miss Rothmann. 

“ Why, she always says at the end, ‘ for Jesus’ 
sake,’ ” answered the child reverently. “I never 
used to say that before in all my life, because 
grandfather said it was wicked; because — be- 
cause — I am a Jew.” She let the last words fall 
with a soft, regretful sound that was very touch- 
ing. 

‘ ‘ So am I, Becca, ’ ’ answered the young lady ; 
and the tears were in her eyes, though she smiled 
down at the flushed little face. 

“You are?” she exclaimed in a tone of won- 
der not unmixed with gladness. “You are a Jew 
too ? Then I wonder — I wish I knew — ’ ’ 

“What, my dear child?” The voice was so 
gentle it forbade any fear. 

“I wish I knew if you are the kind of Jew 
that can pray like Rosina,” she said, with a quiv- 
ering of her lips that told how deeply the thought 
had affected her. 


78 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

Roger had been standing near and moving 
uneasily. He caught something of the tenor of 
the last words and longed to save Miss Rothmann 
pain. He saw the doctor coming in at the door 
and stepped up to Becca’s bedside before her ques- 
tion could receive any answer. 

“ Here comes the doctor, Becca. Do you sup- 
pose he will scold me for letting you talk so 
much ?’ ’ 

A. shadow of disappointment swept over Bec- 
ca’s face and she glanced up at the young lady, 
whose eyes were fixed upon an engraving of Christ 
blessing the little children, which hung just op- 
posite Becca’s bed. 

“I guess not, sir. He doesn’t scold us very 
often. If he does. I’ll tell him it was my fault, 
talking so much. I was so glad, you see. Will 
you mind,’’ she added, turning again to Miss 
Rothmann, “if I think about your face when I try 
to get to sleep at night, and if I think it is like 
my mother’s face?” 

“ Not at all, dear child,” and the lady stooped 
to kiss her. 

Then suddenly into the midst of the pretty 
tableau stepped one who was not the doctor and 
asked cheerily, “Well, little Becca, are you hav- 
ing a reception, and may I come too?” 

Again the look of eager welcome shone in the 


IN THE CHARITY HOSPITAL. 79 

sick child’s face. “O Mr. Youngs, everybody is 
so good to me and I ’m so happy here !” 

“That’s right, little one. I shall have that 
to tell the grandpa when I see him.” 

Then the new-comer held out his hand to 
Roger, who said, “I’m very glad you have come, 
for I want you to know Miss Rothmann. This is 
my friend, the Rev. Mr. Youngs, Miss Roth- 
mann.” 

The lady extended her hand in friendly greet- 
ing and said cordially, “Mr. Dunham has told 
me many things about your labors in this part of 
the city, and I am glad to know you.” 

Roger watched and listened, half wondering 
if his friend would not be “completely captiva- 
ted” at once, and thinking how well these two 
would suit one another. 

“ I too have heard about you. Miss Rothmann, 
from the same good friend, and I consider it a 
great pleasure that I have met you here. Indeed, 
I may say that I have also heard of you under 
another name,” he added with a smile. 

She looked surprised and puzzled until he 
said, 

“The children here have some one whom 
they call ‘the good lady.’ They never use any 
other title, but I judge from their childish descrip- 
tion that you are that lady. Isn’t it so, Becca?” 


80 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

“Yes, sir, that’s what they call the lady — 
Rosina and Patty and all of them. It’s ’cause 
she does such kind things for them always when- 
ever she comes, and so they love her.” 

They left Becca to rest a little while they went 
together to the other children. It was pleasant 
to see the clergyman’s gentle way and to hear his 
wise words to the little ones. At many a bedside 
he offered a simple prayer for health and blessing 
that the smallest, most ignorant child could un- 
derstand and join. And Miss Rothmann noticed 
that at the end of each he uttered those words of 
which Becca had spoken, those words which to 
Christians appeared to have such a wondrous 
power, and which they sent with such trusting 
appeal to the throne of grace. 

Presently she heard Mr. Youngs saying, “Is 
the pain so bad, dear child? Then I’ll tell you 
what you may think of to help you bear it. Think 
of the blessed Jesus and how he suffered terrible 
pain, even pain that killed him, and suffered it 
all because he loved tis sa. Wont that thought help 
you to be brave and strong, my little Matty?” 

“Yes, sir, I think it will,” the child replied. 
“ I can bear it better when I remember that Jesus 
is looking at me and loving me. I ’ll try to think 
of his pain.” 

As Miss Rothmann stepped behind Becca’s 


IN THE CHARITY HOSPITAL. 8l 

bed to avoid disturbing her she heard her saying 
softly to herself, “He suffered such pain, such 
dreadful pain, just because he loved everybody so 
much ! And they killed him ! the Jews killed 
him, his very own people ! O dear Jesus, I am a 
Jew, but I am so sorry for that, so very sorry and 
ashamed. Please forgive all the Jews and make 
them all sorry.” 

She ended with a little sob. And when Miss 
Rothmann spoke to the physician she was not 
surprised to find that he did not wish the sick 
child to talk any more, but to sleep, if possible. 

So she said to her, “Becca, the doctor wants 
you to go to sleep; and I am going to sing to you, 
so that you will begin to feel sleepy. Do not 
talk.” 

The child’s bright smile was reward enough 
for a greater effort. And Sara sat down by the 
little white bed and sang in a sweet, low voice — 
what? Not the familiar Sunday-school hymns, 
“Jesus loves me” or “There is a fountain filled 
with blood.” No, but sweet, pleading psalms 
such as Israel’s harp-playing king sang thousands 
of years ago, quaint Und pathetic and grand. 


Boger Dunham’s Choice. 


6 


82 


ROG^R DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


X. 

A DISAPPOINTED HOPE. 

Somehow it was reported among the young 
men and maidens that Roger Dunham had been 
seen walking with “ that pretty Jewess.” 

His friend Theo Brand having heard it went 
straightway to Roger and taxed him with it. 

In the simplicity of an honest and fearless na- 
ture Roger acknowledged it to be a fact. He felt 
no shame; why should he show any? Rather, he 
was conscious of a pleasant exultation. But this 
he would not show either, for noble and honora- 
ble reasons. 

His mood was too quiet and dignified for Theo 
to jest much with him or to scoff at his choice of 
a companion. But that same Theo went home 
and there gave free vent to all his restrained senti- 
ments. He really felt strongly on the subject. 

“Why should Roger be so foolish?” he said, 
walking up and down the room and. thinking it 
all over. “He will simply ruin hinSelf in soci- 
ety. I don’t see what the fellow is thinking of.” 

“ People who are in love don’t usually take 
time to think much of how others will regard 


A DISAPPOINTED HOPE. 83 

their foolishness; at least that is what I ’ve heard 
of such persons,” said Miss Klvina with a sarcas- 
tic laugh. 

“I wish we knew something of this young 
Jew girl and of her family, so that we could ven- 
ture to speak with Roger about it,” said good 
Mrs. Brand, who really felt an interest in the 
orphaned young man, who had been as free and 
familiar in her house as one of the family. But 
that was in his boyish days; now he was a man 
and was putting off childish ways. 

“Why, Fanny,” exclaimed her husband, “do 
you fancy you have any influence whatever over 
a young fellow who has no one to check or hinder 
him — no one to make him ashamed of his wretch- 
ed folly?” 

Mr. Brand was annoyed. He had liked this 
young Dunham and had once pleased himself 
with thoughts of having him for a son-in-law. 
There was an old-time courtesy and consideration 
for his elders in Roger Dunham’s actions which 
pleased many people; and even Mr. Brand, with 
all his rough talk, appreciated it. In proportion 
as he had liked and “counted upon” the young 
man he felt provoked and disappointed at his 
recent behavior. 

“Why, yes, Robert, I feel as if I might have 
some right to question and advise Roger, who has 


84 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

been like a son to me always, only I haven’t the 
slightest knowledge of this girl or her family. 
Even Roger himself, when yon spoke to him 
about the brother, didn’t seem altogether sure 
that he was a Jew; did he?” 

“Of course he was sure of it, mother,” said 
Elvina, “only he wouldn’t see that it made any 
difference whatever. And I suppose that is just 
how he feels with regard to the girl. ’ ’ 

There was a tinge less of bitterness and more 
of sadness in this speech than Elvina betrayed on 
a former occasion. She certainly felt very keenly 
Roger Dunham’s change of conduct, the infre- 
quency of his visits to the house, and evident ab- 
sorption in something or somebody else. 

She had not herself known how much she 
cared for Roger until this change came. Then 
she realized with a sudden feeling of despair how 
very great a part of her life he had made. And 
yet could she cast any reproach upon him ? Had 
he not been more like a brother than anything 
nearer and dearer? Had he not always come and 
gone like Theo, feeling nothing to check him 
in that freedom which certainly no lover ever 
uses? 

No, she knew she could not honestly blame 
.Roger. But that did not make it any easier to 
bear. And she felt that both her father and mo- 


A DISAPPOINTED HOPE. 


85 

ther had come to look upon Roger Dunham as a 
probable son-in-law. Her affection had their 
sanction, though now, she said to herself, it would 
probably never be needed. 

TThe only question before this young lady now 
was how she should accept this cross which had 
come to her and bear it so as to honor her wo- 
manhood and her God. Very much — in fact, 
everything — depended on how she would do this. 

It seemed to her as if they would never stop 
talking about it. Theo felt it undoubtedly, and 
every now and then he made some fresh allusion 
to Roger’s foolishness, wondering and speculating 
and grieving over it. 

It was a long evening to Elvina. She tried to 
bear her own part in the discussion, and her sar- 
castic remarks would not have led any one to 
suppose that she felt any real, personal sorrow in 
regard to the matter. But when at last she could 
retire to her own room without betraying her 
longing to be alone she seemed quite another 
person. All the look of scorn and sarcasm left 
her face, and she sat down with a heavy heart to 
look at her disappointment as fairly and calmly 
as she could. Her first and strongest feeling was 
that of anger at the unconscious cause of h.er vex- 
ation. 

“I would like,” she thought, “to show this 


86 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

girl that she has no right to Roger Dunham — that 
she should stay among her own people. ’ ’ 

She even went so far as to plan how she could 
induce Roger to say in course of conversation that 
he “despised a woman who thrust herself in 
men’s way,” and then repeat the remark to Miss 
Rothinann on the first occasion. 

Again, she would find herself wondering, “if 
Roger should marry this girl, how his friends 
\Vould receive her.” Perhaps they would not re- 
ceive her at all: that would be hard for “poor 
Roger;” still he would have “only himself to 
blame. ’ ’ 

Tired at last of her room and her own thoughts, 
she opened the window and stood by it for a few 
moments. The cool breath of the opening spring- 
time was refreshing, and the solemn beauty of the 
starry sky, as she looked up, seemed to her to re- 
buke her, whispering of calm and holy thoughts, 
of peace gained through trustful submission to the 
Ruler of all, of strength won through self-con- 
quest. 

But the tempter was also there in persuasive 
guise and with delusive reasonings. He held her 
eyelids wide; she could not sleep because of his 
plausible whisperings, so alluring to poor human 
nature. 

Ah, it would have been well for her had she 


A DISAPPOINTED HOPE. 87 

knelt at her bedside repeating with her whole 
heart the old prayer of her childhood, “I pray 
thee, Lord, my soul to keep. ’ ’ 

On this same night, not far from where Elvina 
Brand sat thinking not wisely of her sorrow, an- 
other girl was as sleeplessly musing over the 
troubled question which had spoken in her life. 
She, too, was perplexed; yet there was no angry 
feeling in her musings, no censure of any one, no 
thought which was not as gentle as the air of 
spring which breathed in at her open window. 

Her thoughts were of One who had visited the 
earth long ago and had called himself the Saviour 
of men. If she could but feel sure that this One 
had indeed been the promised Messiah! How all 
life would change for her if this were so 1 A 
hope, a promise of light and truth and peace, 
seemed borne in on the soft spring air. 

Sara Rothmann knelt, as her custom was, and 
prayed to that Holy One in whose fear she had 
been brought up. She brought her burden to 
him : as yet she knew not that saying of the 
world’s Burden -bearer, “Come unto me, all ye 
that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give 
you rest.” Yet in the darkness outside of those 
arms of love she cried, “ ‘Save me, O God; for 
the waters are come in unto my soul!’ ” 


88 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


XI. 

SUNDAY MORNING AT CHURCH. 

Miss Rothmann was very kind and attentive 
to her new charge at the Charity Hospital, though 
her visits were made at times when there was lit- 
tle likelihood that the young clergyman or his 
friend would be there. 

She felt much surprise that Becca did not 
repeat the question which she had not had an 
opportunity of answering on the occasion of her 
first visit. The child had been too much in ear- 
nest not to return to the subject unless some one 
had told her not to do so. Miss Rothmann sus- 
pected that some one had warned the child not to 
trouble her with questions. She suspected right- 
ly ; and rightly, too, her suspicions rested upon 
Roger Dunham. 

“It would be like him,” she said to herself; 
“he always avoids giving pain; and if he did it, it 
was certainly very thoughtful and delicate in him 
to warn little Becca against repeating a question 
which he thought might be offensive or annoying 
to me.” 

Then she imagined how he had spoken to 


SUNDAY MORNING AT CHURCH. 89 

‘Becca, so gently that she could not feel fright- 
ened, as if accused of doing anything wrong, so 
wisely and kindly that the child would count it a 
pleasure to obey him. 

But for all this she sometimes fancied that she . 
could detect a longing look in Becca’ s dark eyes 
as they were fixed upon her face, a look that had 
a pleading question back of it. 

“Oh, little Becca, I wish — I wish I could an- 
swer it!” she cried sometimes when she sat alone 
thinking over it. 

She and her brother had many talks together. 
The problem had come into their lives and would 
not disappear unsolved. Diligently they studied 
together those olden prophecies, finding and try- 
ing to find a fresh meaning in them. This they 
could not do in their mother’s presence; for, duti- 
ful as Hebrew children generally are, they would 
not allow themselves to put a sorrow upon their 
mother until they felt sure they were right. 

“Even then,” said they, “it will be hard 
enough.” 

Again, when they had opportunity of sitting 
by themselves, they would search the New Tes- 
tament with honest and diligent attention, and 
the more they read, the more the character of 
Jesus, as drawn in the Gospels, impressed and 
attracted them, the more it seemed as if his claims 


90 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

must be true, the more they were struck with the ' 
correspoudeiice between his life and works and 
death and the prophecies and sacrificial hints of 
the Old Testament as those appeared to them in 
the new light thrown upon them under their pray- 
erful study and comparison. Was not the Holy 
Spirit showing Christ to these two seekers after 
truth? But still they had their doubts. They 
were not yet convinced. 

“Sara, would you be willing to go to the 
Christian church some Sunday and hear Mr. 
Youngs preach?” Deane asked one Sunday morn- 
ing as they sat thus together, Mrs. Rothmann 
having gone out to some charitable meeting of 
Hebrew ladies. 

Sara paused to think before replying. 

“It isn’t a pleasant neighborhood, I know,” 
Deane went on, ‘ ‘ but for that very reason we can 
go without attracting attention from those who 
would criticise or find fault. And I do like what 
I have seen of Dunham’s friend.” 

“Yes, he is certainly a true gentleman and 
thoroughly devoted to his work. It makes one 
feel that there is some strong truth in a cause 
that inspires a young man to such self-denying 
labor. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Tet us go and hear him preach, then, wont 
you?” 


SUNDAY MORNING AT CHURCH. 


91 

“Yes, Deane, I will go. I think Mr. Youngs 
will see our action in the true light.” 

“Certainly he will. He will be glad to see 
us and to help us if it is in his power. ’ ’ 

Deane Rothmann w^as right. The young min- 
ister was glad indeed, though not a little sur- 
prised, to see the brother and sister among his 
congregation one fair spring Sunday. He knew 
enough of the character of both through Roger 
Dunham’s representations and through his own 
observation of Miss Rothmann to feel sure that 
they were actuated by no idle curiosity or foolish 
whim. Therefore his heart grew warm with 
hope, and he earnestly sought divine help to say 
before these two words which should reveal the 
true Messiah in such a way that He must for ever- 
more keep a place in their thoughts and lives. 

It was a strange and interesting sight, those 
two wealthy, cultured young Jews sitting among 
the “mission” congregation with the poor, the 
ignorant, the sad, the degraded, of all ages and 
nationalities. 

Many eyes were turned curiously on the bro- 
ther and sister, and many were the conjectures as 
to who they might be and why they came and 
where the}^ lived. 

“Some friends of the minister’s, I reckon,” 
ventured a keen-eyed one, noticing the marks of 


92 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


some special emotion in the yonng preacher’s face 
and manner. 

“I say, Molly, don’t you suppose that’s the 
lady the parson’s going to marry?” asked a girl 
with a bold, bright face of her companion. 

“lyike enough. She’s mighty handsome, 
anyhow.” 

‘ ‘ What are you two talking about ? Are you 
so stupid that you do n’t see she ’s a Jew ?” 

“A Jew, is she? Well, I shouldn’t have 
known it. You always see twice as much as any- 
body else. Nan Jones.” 

“Then she’s an acquaintance of the parson’s. 
And he reckons he’ll convert her and her bro- 
ther.” 

“Hush, you chattering girls ! The parson’s 
comings ’ ’ 

The girls laughed and hurried on. Others 
lingered to have another look at the strangers. 

“ ‘ Convert’ ’em! Well, if the minister reck- 
ons on converting any Jews, he ’ll find it the big- 
gest job he ever undertook I” muttered a tall, 
gaunt man, peering back over the heads of the 
people to get a second glimpse. 

“ Never mind, ’Lias! ’T wont make any dif- 
ference to you. So come on.” 

“Can’t I take an interest in my feller-crea- 
tures, Kate, without you a-catchin’ me up so?” 


SUNDAY MORNING AT CHURCH. 93 

This discussion was continued outside, and 
gradually the aisles were cleared of the motley 
assembly, whose movements and greeting words 
as they passed out were in great measure over- 
powered by the voice of the great organ. 

Mr. Youngs had seen the need of this organ, 
also of a man who could handle it with a master- 
touch. By the help of friends and by much self- 
denial on his own part he had secured both the 
organ and the organist. 

And they fulfilled their mission nobly — more 
than fulfilled the clergyman’s expectations. Even 
he had not fully realized the great influence which 
music has over the most ignorant and undevel- 
oped minds. To many besides little Becca had 
the wonderful music come as a mighty voice call- 
ing to better lives and higher aims. Many a one, 
older and far more sinful than the little Jew girl, 
had, like her, crept in stealthily, nestling in some 
far, dim corner of the church to listen to that 
great, strange voice. Many an eye, unused to 
tears, had grown moist with a new emotion as the 
music swept grandly down the aisles and died 
away to the gentlest, sweetest murmur. 

Did the young minister ever regret his efforts 
and his self-denials? No! how could he? What 
was even a threadbare coat or a scanty meal com- 
pared with the hope and satisfaction which came 


94 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

to him when he saw those burdened souls touched 
and moved so ? 

In truth, there had been very much of self-de- 
nial in this clergyman’s life, more than any one 
except the Master ever knew! 

‘ ‘ I suspect that is the reason why you were so 
slow to come out into yonder world and claim 
old friends and acquaintances,” said Roger Dun- 
ham to him once upon making certain discover- 
ies of this kind. ‘‘You were too proud to ask 
any of us to help you in your good work, and so 
you have kept on digging away by yourself, need- 
ing, too, so much that it was simply our duty to 
give you. ’ ’ 

“Ah, when you talk so, Roger!” Mr. Youngs 
replied, with a loving glance at his friend’s eager 
face. “ But I didn’t want to go up there to you 
in your gay world just for what I could get, you 
know. Since you have come down here to me, 
it is all right. And I do n’t mind your seeing my 
shabby, little, lonely life.” 

“Shabby!” echoed Roger. “ Why, Dana, 
3*our life is brilliant; it shines out upon every one 
of us till we’re fairly dazzled and feel as if we 
ought to shrink away and hide our own tiny 
sparks of self ” 

Roger Dunham’s coming had certainly been a 
blessing to the young minister in many ways be- 


SUNDAY MORNING AT CHURCH. 95 

side the substantial ones of his very willing and 
generous help. Mr. Youngs was beginning to 
live rather too much away from his own class. 
He needed the kindling touch of other noble 
minds, the inspiration and sympathy which are 
always so sweet from those who can comprehend 
and appreciate our work. He had been too much 
absorbed in his work to really feel the need. But 
he knew that Roger^s coming had brightened his 
life wonderfully. He realized it especially on 
this Sunday morning when he saw the two re- 
fined, intelligent faces looking up to him from 
among that mass of duller humanity and craving 
of him to say to them that which should stay v/ith 
them and help them. 

Certainly never before had he “preached 
Christ” more tenderly and urgently as one alto- 
gether lovely and desirable, the slain Lamb of 
God, the Saviour, the Messiah, whom every sin- 
ful, helpless soul needed, whose strongest plea for 
acceptance was in that very fact — that every soul 
needed him so and found in him such perfect sat- 
isfaction and peace. He was moved by the Spirit, 
and his utterance was powerfully simple and 
touching. 

“Why not, oh, why not?” was the cry of' 
Sara Rothmann’s heart all through the service. 
Why should they wait longer, when here was such 


96 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

perfect answer to every want ? Could any priest 
offer so noble a victim? Could any king bring 
more than this One had brought ? Could , any 
Messiah be ‘ ‘ anointed ’ ’ with greater, better powd- 
er? Could any other, though he came and sat 
upon a throne among the remnant of his people, 
do more for them than this One had done? Were 
not their hearts weary with hoping in vain and 
was not death closing many eyes that had long 
looked in vain ? 

Her eyes were still dim with thoughts of ear- 
nest longing when she raised them to the clergy- 
man’s face as he came down to speak to her and 
her brother. And there was the look of a ques- 
tion in them, a long- pondered question which 
made the heart heavy and days a weariness. 

“I am very glad to see you here,” Mr. Youngs 
said in his simple, hearty way as he shook hands 
with each of them. “It is a great pleasure to 
me. I am not often honored by the presence of 
such hearers. My friend Dunham comes in oc- 
casionally. He says he enjoys hearing my or- 
ganist. ’ ’ 

“He is a fine musician, certainly, and you 
have a grand instrument,” replied Mr. Roth- 
mann. 

“lam glad you approve of it. It is a pet of 
mine. Some day, if you will let me, I would like 


SUNDAY MORNING AT CHURCH. 97 

to tell you its history. And if you cared to look 
through the church rooms any time, I am sure 
Roger Dunham would be delighted to bring you. 
He knows when generally to find me here. He 
runs in to encourage me with his bright face and 
words quite often.” 

He talked on freely without any formality, 
making them feel perfectly comfortable, yet giv- 
ing them ample opportunity for anything they 
might wish to say or ask. 

Miss Rothmann held one of the plainly-bound 
hymn-books in her hand and with a little blush 
and smile asked if she might take it home. 

He consented gladly. And they walked out 
together into the soft sunlight which was bring- 
ing thoughts of resurrection to all hearts, the new 
life of nature, which led so naturally up to the 
rising of that Redeemer of whom the world stands 
in such constant need. They did not tell Mr. 
Youngs why they had gone there, and he asked 
them no questions, only showing himself quite 
friendly and kind, such a one as they might read- 
ily turn to in any time of perplexity or doubt. 


Roger Dunham'B Choice. 


7 


98 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


XII. 

THE ANONYMOUS NOTE. 

“After all, I really believe that men like those 
women who run after them — that is, those who 
show a preference for their company,” said El- 
vina Brand, correcting her remark so as to make 
it sound somewhat less harsh. 

The conversation had been started by some 
newspaper editorial which Mr. Brand had read 
aloud in the presence of his wife and children and 
Roger Dunham. Roger was quietly playing his 
game of chess with Theo, after their old cus- 
tom, while the ladies were busy with their fancy- 
work. 

“I protest, in the name of my sex!” cried 
Theo, laughing, and wondering why his sister 
should speak so. 

“Isn’t it true? I think they seem always to 
favor the girl who seeks them, rather than the one 
who waits to be sought. It is flattering to your 
vanity, you see,” Miss Brand added with a light 
laugh, while deep in her heart she felt ashamed 
of the design which prompted her remarks. 

“Hear that, Roger. Will you acknowledge 


THE ANONYMOUS NOTE. 


99 


any such thing ? We infinitely prefer the shy 
girl and detest the one who shows any liking for 
us. Don’t we, Roger?” 

“Of course we do,” answered Roger absently, 
with his eyes and thoughts on the piece that he 
was about to move next. 

He had said all that Miss Brand wished. She 
could now accomplish the purpose which she had 
in mind. 

Yet somehow she felt ill at ease. She could 
not exult at having gained her point. She was 
troubled. Where were all the specious reason- 
ings which had led her on? Who was it against 
whom she had been plotting? Was this her child- 
hood’s friend, the true and loyal champion of 
women, Roger Dunham, whose words were al- 
ways so considerate and kind? And could she 
feel that he would approve of her action and its 
motive? No. As she continued the discussion a 
little longer for appearance’s sake her heart grew 
heavy under its own condemnation. 

Vexed at herself and sadly out of harmony 
with the calm surroundings of her home that 
evening, she left them all abruptly and went 
away to her room. 

“What ails Elf?” thought her brother. And 
he glanced at his friend’s face to see if it betrayed 
any special feeling. But no; Roger apparently 


lOO 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


had not noticed anything amiss. He was only 
quietly intent on the game of chess. 

Not many evenings later our young friends 
were again together at a large social gathering 
held for some special literary purpose in which 
Theo Brand and his friend Dunham were much 
interested. 

To Miss Brand’s amazement, she noticed among 
the ladies present “that Miss Rothmann” who 
had been so much in her thoughts of late. She 
felt a sudden exultation. Could she not now let 
this girl know how false a position she was occu- 
pying? Would it not be a simple act of charity 
to do this ? 

By-and-by, as she looked across the room from 
where she was sitting, she saw Miss Rothmann’ s 
dark eyes raised to Roger Dunham’s face, while 
he was speaking earnestly to her. Elvina’s lip 
curled and a gleam of anger shone in her eyes. 

All unconscious of the vexation she was caus- 
ing, the gentle- voiced Hebrew girl talked on. 
She was greatly interested in this new movement 
and wished to help it forward. She was eager to 
hear what Mr. Dunham had to say with regard to 
it. Yet when in the midst of the conversation 
Mrs. Rothmann appeared, to ask for Sara, she 
instantly left her brother to talk to their friend 
and followed her mother cheerfully. 



Roger Dunham. Page loi 








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TH^ ANONYMOUS NOTE. lOI 

“ I am just a little faint, my dear. I would n’t 
let Deane know, he would be so anxious. I ’ll sit 
where it is cooler for a few moments if you will 
give me your arm.” 

With tender attention the young lady accom- 
panied her mother towards a small ante-room, 
where the lights burned with a soft, subdued color 
among an array of beautiful plants and the even- 
ing air crept in to stir the delicate perfume. 

“ I can stay here quite comfortably by myself, 
Sara dear. Do you return to your friends.” 

“Thank you, mother; but I prefer to stay 
with you. It is very pleasant here and the flow- 
ers are so lovely. ’ ’ 

She moved softly about among the plants with 
an unusually interested and bright look on her 
face. Even in her moment of fatigue the mother 
noticed it and was glad that Deane had urged 
them to go that evening. While she mused thus 
with half-closed eyes, a young lad belonging to the 
house, who was going about among his elders in a 
privileged way, looked in through the drawn cur- 
tains, and seeing* Miss Rothmann among the roses, 
entered and handed her a note, bowing politely 
as he said he had been requested to bring it to her. 

The young lady looked surprised, but opened . 
the note, as the bearer withdrew, and read it by 
the dim light. It is needless to describe the blank 


102 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


astonishment and the emotions which followed, as 
depicted in Miss Rothmann’s countenance. She 
stood motionless for some minutes, then she re- 
membered her mother and endeavored to conquer 
her agitation. She put the note in her pocket 
and said to herself that she would give it no more 
thought that evening, but wait for the quiet of her 
own room. 

That was more easily said than done. She 
felt the unsteadiness of her voice as she spoke to 
her mother. But, thanks to that good lady’s wea- 
riness and half-dozing state, she did not notice it. 

“Why, my child, I was really getting sleepy 
here in this quiet, fragrant spot. We must go. 
I am feeling much better. I am glad we did not 
trouble Deane. You see, it is so much wiser. 
Women understand how to get over things with- 
out a fuss.” 

The mother chatted on, feeling, as she said, 
the better for her few moments of quiet and rest. 
And her daughter marvelled, and longed for that 
lightness of heart which had not descended to her. 

“Women knew how to get over things with- 
out a fuss, ’ ’ did they ? Then she must get over 
this strange, sudden thing which had so cruelly 
wounded her. Just, too, as she was beginning to 
see the glimmering dawn of a brighter day; just 
as peace seemed about to enter her life! 


THE ANONYMOUS NOTE. 


103 

They walked slowly back to the company. 
No one had missed them, except, perhaps, Deane 
and Mr. Dunham. Yes; some one else had! the 
sender of that cruel message. Was it “some one 
else,” or was it— could it have been Mr. Dun- 
ham himself? 

Sara Rothmann caught her breath quickly as 
she glanced in his direction. Could it be pos- 
sible ? Had he really thought her unwomanly 
and forward and taken that way of letting her 
know? What, then, had she done? “Met 
him,” it is true. But could she be supposed to 
help that? Surely, she had always chosen her 
own convenience and had given no thought to 
him. And when he had joined her it had ever 
been his own wish and offer; nay, rather that for 
which he asked as a favor. 

He and Deane were not alone together when 
she returned to the room; Miss Brand and her 
brother were with them, and the conversation was 
of a somewhat different character. 

Sara sat down with a longing to be away from it 
all. She was speaking of leaving soon to some one, 
when Roger Dunham moved towards her again. 

“ Hear her, Mr. Dunham!” .cried her compan- 
ion; “she is talking of going already, as if we 
had wearied her!” 

“Oh, but I hope Miss Rothmann will not go 


104 ROGER DUNHAM^ S CHOICE. 

yet,’’ he said. Then turning to her, “Why, do 
you know, I have actually persuaded our friend 
Youngs to look in on us for a few moments this 
evening. And you must not miss such a rare 
sight as that!” 

He saw her face brighten at the mention of 
the clergyman’s name. No one else would have 
noticed it, probably; but Roger Dunham was 
watching for it. 

“I should like to see Mr. Youngs and to 
know his opinion of the new plans,” she said. 
But she added no more; and there seemed no en- 
couragement for Mr. Dunham to stay beside her. 
She had suddenly become very quiet and absorbed; 
not sad so much as cold and reserved. 

Again, when Dana Youngs went up to her, 
that light in her eyes caught Roger Dunham’s 
eager gaze. 

“Ah, well,” he thought, “I might have fore- 
seen that. They are suited to each other exactly. 
Dear old Dana! he needs some one to care for him 
and look after him. I ’ll do my best to rejoice at 
this.” But his “best” was very poor that first 
night. 

Elvina Brand noticed him and wondered. 
Some subtile change had come over him. He 
held himself somewhat aloof after introducing his 
friend. He was quiet and thoughtful. In fact, 


THE ANONYMOUS NOTE. IO5 

he had altogether changed within the last few 
weeks from the gay and careless young man she 
had known all her life. 

And yet had she not made an effort for his 
good? Was it not possible that some day he 
might thank her for it? Ah! but the flaw in her 
argument was as evident as the flaw in her self- 
satisfaction, had she but allowed herself to see it. 

The remainder of the evening wore on, its 
brightness dimmed somewhat and its pleasant un- 
dertaking having lost half its charm for Elvina 
Brand. Yet she would not acknowledge this even 
to herself. This is a hard thing for any of us to 
confess; that even when our plans have been al- 
lowed to go onward to fulfilment we are still un- 
satisfied, still find a lack where we had hoped to 
feel a complete victory. It is perhaps a part of 
the divine plan, whereby we are brought to search 
our hearts and see how closely self has become en- 
twined among all our projects and desires. 


io6 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


XIII. 

A MISUNDERSTANDING. 

No, Elvina Brand was not satisfied. She felt 
no sense of a fine victory. She tried to believe 
that she had done something to benefit her old 
friend Roger Dunham. 

Yet Roger indeed seemed very indifferent to 
both the benefit and the fair giver of it. He was 
not seen by any one in those days walking with 
“that pretty Jewess.” Theo brought home no 
such reports of his friend. 

Roger himself came often, as had been his cns-. 
tom in the days gone by, to play chess with Theo. 
He was courteous and gentle, as of old. He never 
omitted to ask Elvina to sing and play for him. 
He brought his little gifts of flowers and rare 
fruits to Mrs. Brand, as he had done before. He 
was a patient listener to all Mr. Brand’s ques- 
tions and rambling talk. He even replied with a 
quiet dignity when that same person asked him 
laughingly “how his Jew friend was coming on.” 

“He is very highly esteemed in our office, 
sir.” 

“And a very good fellow too,” put in Theo 


A MISUNDERSTANDING. 107 

with all honesty, since he no longer felt anxiety 
with regard to Roger’s marrying the sister — “a 
very good fellow, as I fonnd out by conversing 
with him that night at Mrs. Sheldon’s Riterary. 
He is really well educated and a fine talker.” 

Elvina said nothing, but thought scornfully 
how ‘ ‘ uncommonly generous ’ ’ her brother was. 

But she was wrong. Theo Brand was not 
ungenerous in any case. When he had feared 
that his friend was in danger of becoming at- 
tached to a Jewess his dismay and his words were 
rather generous than otherwise. He had sincerely 
believed it to be a very bad thing for Roger, and 
therefore did all he could to discourage it. The 
fault was not in his feelings so much as in his 
way of expressing them. His sister had been at 
fault both in her feelings and in her mode of giv- 
ing vent to them. 

“I am glad you liked Deane Rothmann,” 
Roger had answered. “ He is certainly very cul- 
tivated and intelligent.” 

Then he had changed the subject with a cer- 
tain peremptoriness which none but Mr. Brand 
would have cared to disregard. 

Roger Dunham was faithfully trying, as he 
expressed it, to “give Dana his opportunity.” 
He had at first been greatly surprised and grieved 
at Miss Rothmann’s coldness, her entire change 


Io8 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

of demeanor towards him. He had tried to meet 
her in some of her visits to the Charity Hospital 
and other places where he knew she went with 
her sweet and modest generosity. But he did not 
succeed. She must have avoided him purposely, 
he concluded. 

He asked his friend Dana if “Miss Rothmann 
still continued her visits to Becca and the rest.” 

“Yes, indeed,” Mr. Youngs had replied. 
“She is a noble young woman. It is rare to see 
one as young as she so perfectly self-forgetful and 
thoughtful for others. Those children love her 
and watch for her coming.” 

Then, after a pause, he added, “ She and her 
brother have been to my church again once or 
twice. I am growing very hopeful, Roger, that 
something may come of it.” 

“Very probably something will come of it,” 
thought Roger, “and a very good something for 
you too, dear old Dana. ’ ’ 

Roger himself was becoming a great favorite 
with the little inmates of the hospital. He was 
one of the few young men who understand and 
care for children. He never went there among 
those little sufferers without making them hap- 
pier and brighter; and they counted it a very good 
time which had brought to them Mr. Dunham 
and the “beautiful lady.” 


A MISUNDERSTANDING. 


109 

But there came a day when these two met 
once again among the sick children. 

Becca was failing rapidly. The physician 
gave no hope of recovery. He had known and 
remembered her mother. She had died in the 
same sudden way— like a rose which is in full 
bloom one day and on the next droops and with- 
ers; only the mother had life made easier for her, 
and the rough winds had not blown upon her so 
early; that was all the difference. 

Then the good clergyman told little Becca 
that God was calling her away from earth. 

‘‘Are you glad to go, Becca?” 

“Yes, sir; only — please, who will tell grand- 
father? I think — I wish — ” 

“What, my child?” he asked as she hesita- 
ted. 

“I’ve often thought, maybe, if the beautiful 
lady — she is a Jew, you know, sir; she told me so 
the first time I ever saw her — if she would go to 
poor old grandfather! She knows how to make 
things so easy and nice. I don’t believe he’d 
mind it so much if she told him.” 

“Then I think the lady will be very willing 
to do it for you,” he answered. 

He left her to rest for a few moments, and 
then, coming back, he said, “Becca, do all your 
friends know that you are one of Jesus’ little chil- 


no ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

dren ? You know lie said, ‘ Suffer the little chil- 
dren to come unto me, and forbid them not’ I 
think you have already come to him by faith, be- 
lieving that he is your Saviour and King; and if 
you confess him you have his own promise that 
he will own you as his child before his Father and 
the angels.” 

“ Oh, yes, sir, I want all my friends to know. 
I often look at the picture and think how nice it 
must have been for those children to feel his arms 
around them and to hear him speaking. Yes, I 
will be his child.” 

“Then if Miss Rothmann comes to-day, as I 
think she will, we will ask her to tell your grand- 
father all about it: that you have become Jesus’ 
little child, that you believe in that Messiah who 
came so long ago, and that you are going away 
from this world.” 

He felt confident that Miss Rothmann would 
be at the hospital that day. She knew that Becca 
had not long to live, and she longed to do all she 
could for her before she was taken away. 

He was right. Two hours later the young 
lady went in, and a note was given her which Mr. 
Youngs had left for her. 

Her face grew grave and thoughtful as she 
read it, but there was no hesitation. 

“It is asking a great deal,” the clergyman 


A MISUNDERSTANDING. 


Ill 


wrote, “but it is Becca who asks it, and if you 
prefer it I will accompany you. In any case I 
hope you will allow me (or your brother, if that 
would be more agreeable) to go with you to the 
old man’s door and to wait for you outside. Do 
not, I beg, go alone. ’ ’ 

“ It was very thoughtful,” she said to herself. 
“ I will let him go with me.” 

She felt that Mr. Youngs knew the neighbor- 
hood and the various people far better than her 
brother did, and she had grown to feel a great 
confidence in this young minister of the Christian 
faith. 

Then she went to Becca and said, “What is 
it, my dear, that you wish me to say to your 
grandfather ?” 

“Oh, if you would! if you do n’t mind going I 
It isn’t a pretty house like yours,” Becca an- 
swered with a sudden thought of how great a 
favor she was asking. 

“It is quite pretty enough, dear. I shall not 
mind anything of that sort. Now tell me what 
you would like me to say.” 

“Please tell grandfather that I am going to 
die, and I would like him to come and say good- 
by to me. But he wont. No, I ’m sure he wont 
come,” she added, shaking her head sorrowfully, 
“not when you tell him the next thing: that I 


II2 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


am a Christian, one of Jesus’ own little children. 
I’m afraid he’ll be very angry when he hears 
that. ’ ’ 

She paused for breath, with her sunken eyes 
full of tears. 

“Grandfather” was all she had ever known 
in the way of kindred all her little life that she 
could remember; and although he had not been 
the fond and loving relative whom she could have 
found joy in ministering to, still he was after all 
just “grandfather;” and her little heart was very 
sore when she thought of leaving him without a 
farewell, without a word or a kiss. 

“ Becca, you ought to be very happy. I would 
like to be you, I think,” said the beautiful lady, 
she who had health and riches and leisure and 
friends, with every want supplied. 

The child gazed at her with a wordless aston- 
ishment. 

“But I must try to be contented, you know, 
dear. God does n’t love his children to complain 
nor to wish they were any one else. So if your 
grandfather will come I will offer to come with 
him, Becca.” 

“ Oh, thank you, thank you !” cried the child. 
“You are so good!” 

Miss Rothmann went away feeling that if it 
were not for Deane she could gladly have knelt at 


A MISUNDERSTANDING. II3 

Becca’s bedside and confessed Christ too. She 
was so weary, so unsatisfied, though she had truly 
striven to serve the Lord and to keep his com- 
mands. Surely his blessing, if she were in the 
way of it, would bring with it more joy and satis- 
faction. There must be something wrong, some- 
thing lacking. 

She passed through the long corridors and at 
the portico found the young clergyman, who was 
waiting for her. 

“Did you know I was here?” she asked. 

“Yes, Miss Rothmann. You know my study 
is not far away, and I left word here for them to 
let me know if you came. Are you going to Mr. 
Nathan’s now, and may I accompany you?” 

“Thank you. If you please, I will go now.” 


Roger Dunham’s Choice. 


8 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


II4 


XIV. 

GRANDFATHER NATHAN. 

It was a strange sight, though there was 110 
one present to look upon it with an artist’s eye, 
for Miss Rothmann had gone in alone and left 
her escort in the bare and narrow hallway: the 
small, bent old man and the tall, graceful young 
woman ; he with his gray locks and beard and 
sharpened features ; she with her dark hair and 
delicately rounded face ; he an epitome of what 
is narrow and selfish in the human heart; she an 
embodiment of generous and noble traits. 

She entered at his grim response to Mr. 
Youngs’ knock, and went directly to his side as 
he sat. 

“Mr. Nathan, pardon me, sir, for intruding 
on your quiet, but I come from Becca, your grand- 
child. I am a friend of little Becca’ s and have 
often heard of her grandfather.” She held out 
her hand to him, bending towards him with a 
smile and a gracious manner that he could not 
resist. 

“ Becca’ s friend, are you? Wont you take a 
seat? Excuse my sitting still; I am an old man. 


GRANDFATHER NATHAN. I15 

And you are — ” He peered with a curious, ques- 
tioning gaze into her face. 

“I am Miss Rothmann, a Jewess,” she re- 
plied, watching to see the effect of her last words. 

“Ah!” His shrivelled face brightened. 
“That’s good! You are a Jewess! And so you 
found Becca?” 

“Yes, sir, in the hospital where I go often to 
see the little sick children. Poor little Becca is 
very, very ill, sir; that is why I am sent to 
you. ’ ’ 

“Ah, like her mother, like her mother,” he 
murmured, shaking his head mournfully. 

“Yes, but Becca is going home much earlier 
than her mother went, sir. The doctors say that 
little Becca cannot live many days longer.” 

He uttered a low wail but did not otherwise 
interrupt her. 

“And she longs to see you and to say fare- 
well. She wanted some one to come and tell you, 
sir; and I offered to come because I am of your 
race; and, besides, I love your little Becca.” 

“Poor child! poor little Becca!” he murmured. 
“ Strange! she to go so young, and I to linger be- 
hind in poverty and loneliness!” 

“You will be able to go and see your grand- 
child, I hope, sir? The distance is not great.” 

He hesitated. “Well, I don’t know. I 


Il6 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

haven’t much strength, and I never go about. 
My room is my sanctuary — a very humble one, 
you’ll say, miss, but still my heart’s in it.” 

‘ ‘ ‘ Where your treasure is, there will your 
heart be also,’ ” thought Miss Rothmann, apply- 
ino- some words that had struck her in her New 
Testament reading as she noticed his peculiar sly 
glance about the room. 

“I feel quite sure^ sir,” she replied, “that the 
short distance would not fatigue you, and I would 
urge you, for the child’s sake, to try and see her 
once more. But I have yet another message for 
you. ’ ’ 

The old man started as if he rather dreaded 
any more messages. And the young lady thought 
that to tell him all without delay might possibly 
insure and hasten his visit to Becca. 

“ I was asked to tell you also that your grand- 
child has accepted the Christian religion, and that 
she wants to have her friends know that she is a 
Christian before she dies.” 

A sudden change passed over the old man’s 
face. He looked very wrathful. He almost rose 
from his chair in the strength of his indignation. 

“And you come to insult me, you, a Jewess, 
by telling me this?” he cried. 

“Isn’t it proper, sir, that you should know 
it? You are her only relative.” She spoke 


GRANDFATHER NATHAN. I17 

calmly, and there was no fear in her heart as she 
gazed upon the angry old man. Her quiet voice 
seemed to have some effect upon him. 

“Yes, yes, certainly! You are right. You 
must pardon me, miss, for my sudden words. 
You can understand how hard it is for me to hear 
such a thing.” 

“Yes, Mr. Nathan, I know it must be hard 
for a parent or a grandparent who has trained up 
a child in one faith dear to himself to see that 
child turn and choose another creed. And yet we 
cannot help these things. We are all free to 
think and to choose what seems best to us. God 
has so made us.” 

“But she’s a child, a mere baby! How can 
she choose or tell what is best? No, no; it’s all 
the work of that smooth-faced minister who was 
so attentive to her. He knew what he was after.- 
Do n’t tell me.” 

Miss Rothmann felt really very sorry for him. 
She could understand what it must be to him, for 
she knew well how her mother would grieve when 
the time came when her children must tell her 
that they had accepted the Christian faith. For 
come it must ; she had no doubt at all of that. 
And so she pitied this poor old Hebrew, whose 
religion apparently brought him little comfort, 
and whose life was so narrow and so small that 


Il8 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

he could not admit into it any tenderness or for- 
giveness for one who in religious matters should 
think differently from himself. 

‘‘I am of your people, Mr. Nathan, and I 
think that is why little Becca asked me to come 
and tell you. And although I am very sorry for 
your disappointment and can understand how you 
must feel, yet I do not blame Becca or any one. 
If the child finds a comfort in the Christian be- 
lief, and can die happy in it, oh, let us be glad, 
dear sir, and let us go and see how a Christian 
child will die.” 

He seemed somewhat softened by her pleading 
words and her respectful manner towards himself. 
But he would not be persuaded to go to see his 
grandchild. Whether it was that he dared not 
leave his hidden treasure with those of his beloved 
faith about him whom he trusted not, or whether 
it was only indifference to Becca, now that she 
was no longer of any use to him, none could say. 

The most that Miss Rothmann could win from 
him was this: “You may take Becca my love; 
tell her she was always kind and attentive to me, 
and I shall miss her very much.” 

“ And you do not blame her, sir? I know she 
will ask me that. Please say that you do not.” 

“Very well. No, I don’t blame the child. 
Her mother did the same thing. It has descend- 


GRANDFATHER NATHAN. II9 

ed to the child. If she ’d stayed with me it might 
have been different. Tell Becca I send her my 
blessing if she cares for it. And say good-by to 
her for me.” 

He turned wearily in his armchair, and then 
Miss Rothmann knew that the talk was ended, 
that nothing more could be gained. So she bade 
him a kind good-by and asked him to send for 
her if at any time she could do anything for 
him. 

“A gracious and beautiful woman!” the old 
man exclaimed to himself as she passed down the 
bare stairs. “ Like one of those whose stories are 
told in the Scriptures, a holy and God-fearing 
woman. Of such there are too few in the world 
in these days.” And he sleepily recounted to 
himself the names of noble Hebrew women of 
old — Sarah, Rebekah, Naomi, Jephthah’s daugh- 
ter, Esther — as though this latter-day Jewish lady 
had quickened his spiritual perceptions. 

As Sara was going out slowly and thoughtfully 
she came suddenly upon Mr. Youngs, who had 
lingered in the vicinity, not willing that the 
young lady should be there unprotected. 

She was glad, not because she had any fear or 
felt any need of protection, but because she want- 
ed to ask him if she might be allowed to go to the 
hospital and see little Becca acknowledge Christ. 


120 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

“ Certainly, Miss Rothmann. I shall be great- 
ly gratified to have you there. And I know it will 
please the child. ’ ’ 

There was a little pause, and then she said 
softly, “If it were not for my brother, I should 
myself be ready this very day to confess Christ 
before the world. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I need not say how glad you make me, ’ ’ the 
minister replied slowly and thoughtfully. “But 
you are right to regard your brother; and I would 
urge you to think of all things well, and be sure 
that your own unbiassed heart shall make the de- 
cision and that earnest prayer for light and guid- 
ance shall go with any step you may be about to 
take. It may seem cold and over-careful to speak 
so, but I am anxious that what you do now at this 
important time of your spiritual life may be that 
which you shall never have cause for one moment 
to regret. I have seen many sad results of impul- 
sive decisions, many cases where eager hearts have 
settled upon that which seemed altogether right 
and good, only to turn back with shame and loss 
in a later hour of cooling ^eal. Though I do not 
think for a moment that you are one to act impul- 
sively, yet I would earnestly ask you to weigh all 
things well, and especially to have regard to those 
with whom you are most closely connected.” 

Sara Rothmann fully appreciated the wisdom 


GRANDFATHER NATHAN. I2I 

and dignity of the clergyman’s words. She 
thanked him and they parted. She knew that 
he had been thinking more especially of her mo- 
ther, and she was glad to know that he could 
appreciate what that mother’s feelings might be 
should her two well-beloved children leave her’ 
and join themselves to the Christians. Such a 
tender, loving, devoted mother, she who had only 
these two and had centred in them her highest 
earthly hopes, her fondest desires, it would be al- 
most cruel to give her such a shock. 

Yet had not Christ said — she was sure they 
were his words which she had read lately — “He 
that loveth father or mother more than me is not 
worthy of me ”? If he was the Lord’s Anointed, 
the incarnate Son of God, the crucified, atoning 
Victim, the risen and ascended High Priest and 
King, she must strive at all costs to secure his 
blessing. 

Suddenly she remembered little Becca’s way 
of praying. Perhaps Christ would himself help 
her if she pleaded his name. The new idea dwelt 
in her mind. It would not leave her. And when 
she had returned home and was in her own quiet 
room, she knelt there and asked the guidance and 
help of him who had died upon the cross to be- 
come the weary world’s Redeemer, the sinner’s 
Way to God. 


122 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

If there is one thing dearer than another to the 
almighty Father’s heart, it must be the sight of 
one of these descendants of his chosen people of 
old kneeling to him and asking blessing “for Je- 
sus’ sake,” one of those who at last have penitent- 
ly come to “ look upon Him whom they pierced,” 
and in that look to find forgiveness and life. 


CONFESSING CHRIST. 


123 


XV. 


CONFESSING CHRIST. 

“You here, among the Philistines, Dana? 
Why, I am right glad to see you.” And Roger 
Dunham’s face showed how true his words w^ere 
as he rose to shake hands with his friend. 

“Certainly. If you are among ‘the Philis- 
tines,’ Dunham, I must go there too, to seek you. 
I went to your home and your aunt said she 
thought you were at the club. She says you are 
‘ not the boy ’ you used to be, Roger. How is 
that?” 

“‘Not the boy.’ I should hope not. She 
wouldn’t have one remain a boy for ever, would 
she?” 

‘ ‘ I dare say she would have you keep that light- 
heartedness and that tendency to stay at home in 
the evening which are characteristic of boyhood. 
Women cling so to such things in those they 
love.” 

“Do they? Poor aunty! I’m sorry to dis- 
appoint her. I’ll try to be more attentive and 
more jolly. But, Dana, life is different, somehow, 
of late. There seems more of it, greater things 


124 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

and nobler aims. I wish — I don’t know ex- 
actly how to express it, but — ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I understand, Roger. I appreciate it, too. 
That is why I have sought you out this evening 
to ask so simple a thing of you as this — to come 
and stand by to-morrow morning while little 
Becca Nathan confesses Christ.” 

Even as he said it there passed across the 
clergyman’s mind a thought of how incongruous 
it would have seemed a few months ago to suggest 
such a thing to careless, ease-loving Roger Dun- 
ham, how Roger himself would have smiled at it 
and how his friends would have sneered. 

The change in the young man’s life could 
have been shown in no way more plainly than by 
his reply to Mr. Youngs’ question. 

“ Poor little Becca! So she has found the way 
from Judaism to Christianity. Well, I’m very 
glad of it, and certainly I will come. It’s very 
kind of you to ask me, Dana. Somehow, I ’ve 
become wonderfully interested in the little He- 
brew girl. Is any one else to be there — the old 
grandfather?” 

The clergyman told him that the grandfather 
refused to go to Becca. He did not speak of Miss 
Rothmann, because he fancied that she had avoid- 
ed meeting Roger lately and he was sorry for it. 
He wanted them to be good friends, these two 


CONFESSING CHRIST. 125 

who both seemed to him so fitted for noble works 
and unselfish aims. 

So Roger promised to go over before he went 
to business in the morning. It was to be early in 
the morning of the beautiful spring day; that 
seemed such an appropriate time for one in the 
early morning of life to consecrate her youth to 
God. 

As Roger Dunham walked over in the fresh, 
bright morning he wondered if Miss Rothm^nn 
would not be there. She had taken such pleasure 
in ministering to little Becca, she had always 
been such a good friend to the young sufferers at 
the hospital, surely it would be appropriate for 
her to be there. 

Yet again he thought. Miss Rothmann is a 
Jewess, and perhaps she might even regret Becca’s 
decision and feel that it was a wrong step to take. 
He had seen so little of the young lady lately. 
Probably Dana knew her feelings, her likes and 
dislikes, by this time. Dear old Dana! 

Around the hospital the grounds were like a 
bit of the happy country set in the midst of the 
dust and dreariness of the great city, bright 
grass and many colored flowers and a few spread- 
ing trees where chattering sparrows held their 
busy meetings. Roger noticed it all. He was in 
the mood for such things to appeal to him, and 


126 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

lingered along the pathway by the flower-beds and 
grass borders. 

Mr. Youngs met him in one of the halls as he 
came from speaking with the physicians. They 
went up together. By little Becca’s bedside stood 
already Miss Rothmanii talking in low tones with 
the nurse, and one or two little crippled children 
who waited, with wondering faces, to see the lit- 
tle Jew girl acknowledge herself a Christian. 

•Miss Rothmann started with surprise as she 
saw who came in with the clergyman. The color 
came into her cheeks and she looked troubled for 
a moment. Roger went directly to her with out- 
stretched hand in friendly greeting. 

“ l am very glad to meet you here,” he said. 

— I did not understand that you were to 
be here,” she said. “Mr. Youngs did not tell 
me. ’ ’ 

“ But you don’t mind? You are willing that I 
should share this scene with you?” he questioned, 
wondering what her averted gaze and troubled 
manner could possibly mean. “I did not know 
you were to be here either. Miss Rothmann. 
But it is a very pleasant surprise to me.” 

“Thank you!” was all her answer as she 
turned towards Mr. Youngs. 

Then for a while all were absorbed in the sim- 
ple service in which the little Jewish girl, who 


CONFESSING CHRIST. 


127 


had given her heart to Christ, gratified her heart’s 
desire by confessing him before her best friends. 

The scene was affecting from its very simplic- 
ity, especially to these two so strangely brought 
together there: the Jewish lady who had never 
before been so associated with Christians, and the 
young man who until lately had had scarcely a 
thought of serious things or of anything beyond 
the present hour and its comfort. 

Tears gathered in Miss Rothmann’s eyes, so 
many and such varied thoughts and feelings pos- 
sessed her. But all who w’ere about her under- 
stood something of what she was experiencing, 
and their hearts were full of sympathy for her. 

When the short service was over the child 
asked Miss Rothmann if she would sing to her as 
she had done once before. 

The lady consented most gladly, and the oth- 
ers left her there among the little ones: her who 
had learned, as we all must do, to “become as a 
little child ” so that she might accept all that the 
Saviour offered her and enter into the “kingdom 
of heaven. ’ ’ 

Roger Dunham walked quietly away in com- 
pany with his friend. Both were silent, and the 
thoughts of each were busy. 

The clergyman’s heart was full of that won- 
drous, grateful joy which only he can know who 


128 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

has helped to lead a soul to Christ. There is no 
joy like it, none to be compared with it. It makes 
a man very humble withal. While his heart is 
overflowing with the gladness and thankfulness 
he yet bows in humility before that divine Spirit 
whose power has burned on, one endless, glorious 
flame, through all ages. What is a man’s best 
power but a faint, flickering reflection of that 
eternal brightness? Yet he is allowed to be the 
helper and co-worker. 

Thinking of all this, is it any wonder that 
Dana Youngs was a humble man as he walked 
from the Hebrew child’s bedside that morninof? 

Roger was pondering many things. He felt 
sure that he had solved the mystery of Miss Roth- 
mann’s behavior towards himself. Had he not 
seen the welcoming light in her eyes as his- friend 
drew near her? Yes; there was no doubt of that. 
Yet he instinctively felt that then was not the 
time to speak of it to the minister. So he only 
grasped his friend’s hand and thanked him for 
the privilege he had allowed him to enjoy that 
morning. Theu he went on his way with a sin- 
cere wish that Dana might get all the good for 
which he longed in this life; yes, even though 
Dana’s joy should mean emptiness and pain for 
him. 

When he reached the office he found there a 


CONFESSING CHRIST. 


IC9 

gentleman visitor, who was discussing with a 
member of the firm something that he called ‘ ‘ the 
Jew question.” Both men were evidently some- 
what excited. As Roger opened his desk and be- 
gan his work he heard the visitor say, 

“I wouldn’t have one of them near me. I 
wouldn’t encourage one in any way. Why, they 
are positively ruining some of our best up-town 
streets. Think of it, a block of Jew houses! 
Mean, grasping creatures! they get the best of 
everything, always the best!” 

“Well, why not, pray, if they have the means 
to get it ? Have n’ t they as good a right as any 
one else?” 

“No! I say emphatically, no! They don’t 
get it decently. Why, do you know how these 
people make their money? They begin down 
town as peddlers. Bach member of the family 
peddles something. They hoard the pennies, and 
by-and-by they start a dark hole of a store, where 
they continue to make good bargains and pile up 
the money. All throw their gains into the gen- 
eral fund, and the next thing is a big store and a 
house up town, next door to yours or mine, may- 
be; and their children and ours must needs attend 
the same school — public or private, it’s all the 
same, for they have plenty of money — and associ- 
ate together. I tell you, it makes me mad.” 

9 


Bogei Dunham's Choice. 


130 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

“ I see that it does,” answered the other gen- 
tleman more calmly. “ But if you ’re going back 
to dig up our past and see how we made our 
money, why, I ’m afraid some of us could n’t stand 
it any better than our Jewish neighbors.” 

“Oh, pshaw! they are Jews; that makes all 
the difference in the world. Don’t you see, Joe?” 

“No, I confess I don’t see. What I see is 
that you are so prejudiced against the race that 
you cannot recognise any good in them. Now 
they have good points. You or I, for instance,^ 
never saw a Jewish beggar. They look after their 
poor and sick in a way which we might imitate. 
It is, I suppose, the old ‘Moses’ Law,’ which 
they cannot forget. Then what a rare thing is a 
Jewish drunkard; and how small a Hebrew per- 
centage goes to make up our criminal classes. 
Most law-abiding citizens they are. Ah 1 here 
comes Jew. I want you to notice him.” 

Deane Rothmann came in, stepped to the el- 
der man’s desk, spoke of the results of several 
transactions and of the situation of certain mat- 
ters relating to the business of the firm. When 
he had completed his report he retired quietly to 
his own desk and began writing there. The sen- 
ior partner nodded to his visitor. But he looked 
unyielding, and only said, 

“Nice, gentlemanly-looking fellow, certainly. 


CONFESSING CHRIST. 


ISI 


But put him to the test, and you ’ll find Jew 
there every time. No use, Joe; they ’re a marked 
race. Everything goes to prove it. And it an- 
noys me that they will intrude upon us at every 
turn of our lives. They should congregate to- 
gether — live away by themselves.” 

“Oh, you are too wholesale in your denunci- 
ation. I shouldn’t like to feel as you do, although 
I own to a lack of affinity for some of those small 
tradesmen who bow and smile at us while they 
are planning how to get the better of us.” 

“They all have it; they don’t shake it off 
when they cease to be petty tradesmen. I tell 
you, they ’re branded. No Jew, male or female, 
passes without recognition.” 

He held to his point. He was one of those 
who could not have passed a night at a hotel 
where Jews also were accommodated. It was not, 
therefore, anything in their religion which dis- 
turbed him; he was simply averse to the race as a 
race. 

When he had gone his friend went and stood 
by Roger Dunham’s desk and laughed heartily at 
that young enthusiast’s flushed and angry face. 

“You must learn to keep cool if you would 
help your cause, Dunham. There are many who 
think just as my friend does. It is a widespread 
feeling — or prejudice, if the word suits you better. 


132 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

If we are going to combat it, we must keep our 
emotions under and get our arguments ready.” 

“ I suppose so,” replied Roger with a sigh. 
And the elder gentleman looked keenly at 
him, wondering to himself “what in the world 
had come over that gay young Dunham.” 


IN RABBI ISAACS’ STUDY. 


133 


XVI. 

IN RABBI ISAACS’ STUDY. 

Rabbi Isaacs sat in his comfortable study 
surrounded by volumes of ancient lore inter- 
spersed with all beautiful results of modern art 
and invention. He had an open book before him, 
and a delightful quiet reigned, giving free scope 
for thought or study. 

But the great scholar’s eyes were not resting 
upon the pages before him, neither were his 
thoughts busy with anything found thereon. Yet 
he was musing upon some theme which absorbed 
him wholly. His brow was contracted, his eyes 
were sad, and ever and anon a deep sigh sounded 
through the stillness of the room. 

What was knowledge worth, after all, when 
the defection of a little child, one little untaught 
child, could so disturb and confuse him? 

What was Becca Nathan to him, the neglected 
grandchild of a wretched old miser? Was it his 
fault that she had gone astray and chosen her own 
way ? Could he leave his lofty studies, his wri- 
tings and meditations upon great subjects, to look 
after the children of those who spent their time 
in idleness? 


134 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

There came a patter of small feet along the 
hall and paused at the door of the great rabbi’s 
study. Then a tiny knock, followed by a little 
silvery voice which said, “Please, papa, may I 
come in ?” 

The lines faded from Rabbi Isaac’s brow; a 
soft, tender light filled his eyes and shone out 
over his whole face, making it nobler and fairer 
than it ever looked when he pondered over the 
great volumes and his mind gathered wise thoughts 
of wondrous things. 

“Yes, my child; come in.” And his voice 
was not just the voice that spoke in the synagogue 
on the Sabbath days. 

“See, papa, what lovely flowers! They were 
selling them in the street and mamma let me go 
with nurse to buy some with my very own money. 
I bought them for your study, papa, ’cause it’s so 
dark and dull in here, with all your big old books. 
Seel” 

She clapped her small hands with delight at 
the glow which spread over the whole study- table 
from her bright nosegay. She was a dainty little 
creature with the inevitable dark eyes and hair. 
Her rich color and the sparkle of her eyes told of 
healthy, happy life, and the joyous freedom with 
which she seated herself on her father’s knee and 
clasped her arms about his neck told of perfect 


IN RABBI ISAACS’ STUDY. 1 35 

love, of tender care, of mutual trust, of a child- 
hood guarded and made glad with all that money 
and affection could procure. 

The learned rabbi looked at it all and thought 
of that child in the hospital. He had known lit- 
tle Becca always. He had known that she was a 
hard worker in the great store. He knew, in a 
general way, about Mr. Davids' popular place for 
‘ ‘ shopping ’ ’ and how large a number of girls and 
children were employed there. Farther than this 
his knowledge had not extended. 

Mr. Davids attended the synagogue worship 
and gave largely for its support. People said he 
was a kind and liberal man. Probably he was, 
in his way. He and Dr. Isaacs were very good 
friends. 

But what was this which had been told him 
about Becca? Why, Becca Nathan was of the 
same age as his own darling Esther. He had al- 
most forgotten that. And it seemed to him that 
once the poor child had been rosy and round- 
cheeked like his own. Yes, he recalled dimly 
now that she had been growing thin and pale for 
some time back. Why had not Jacob Nathan 
looked to it ? He was the proper one to care for 
his own grandchild and not let her fall into the 
hands of strangers and Gentiles to be drawn away 
and Christianized. 


136 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

“Thank you, my Esther, my little queen. 
You have made my dull room very gay and 
pretty. You don’t forget your father when he is 
among his ‘dull old books,’ do you, little one?” 

“Why, never, papa; how could I? But you 
know you haven’t taken a walk with me for a 
long time,” she said, pretending to pout very 
prettily. ‘ ‘ Are you so very busy ?’ ’ 

He did not reply for a moment, but seemed 
lost in thought. Then he said, “I know a little 
girl just your age, Esther, who had no one to take 
care of her but her old grandfather, and he was 
so old that she took care of him until she fell ill 
one day; and then she had to go to a hospital, 
among many other sick children, and strange peo- 
ple took care of her. ’ ’ 

The child’s eyes grew large with amazement 
and pity. 

“ I was thinking about that little girl w^hen 
you came in. Now I wonder if we could get 
flowers enough to send to that hospital to make 
all those poor sick children happy. What do you 
think, little Queen Esther?” 

Her face grew bright with pleasure, and then 
a slight shadow fell across it. “I’m afraid, papa, 
that I haven’t enough money to buy so many.” 

“Well, you and I will buy them together, and 
then I think we shall find money enough.” 


IN RABBI ISAACS’ STUDY. 137 

“O papa, that will be so nice! And don’t 
you think I might go my own self and give them 
the flowers? Please, papa!” as she fancied she 
saw signs of yielding in the calm face with its 
grave smile. 

But before he could make any reply the ser- 
vant brought him a card and at his bidding ush- 
ered in a visitor — a Christian minister, one well 
known to my readers — Rev. Dana Youngs. 

The great rabbi groaned within himself. 
“Have I not already heard enough of this man? 
Must he intrude on my home?” But outwardly 
he was gentlemanly and courteous. 

“I ask your pardon, sir, for coming to you, 
but though you and I have labored long here in 
the same fleld we have not yet become personally 
acquainted. And there seem to me to be many 
things that we need to speak of together, we who 
profess to work for the good of our fellow-men.” 

“Yes,” calmly responded the rabbi, noting 
that the Christian minister was enthusiastic. 

“I think, sir, that you have seen old Mr. Na- 
than since his grandchild was taken to the hos- 
pital ?” 

“I have.” 

“Then you probably know anything regard- 
ing her which I could tell you, unless possibly 
you have not heard that she cannot live many 


138 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

days and that she has a longing to see you before 
she dies.” 

The rabbi’s stern features relaxed and a touch 
of that tenderness which we have seen came into 
his face. “I cannot see why the child should 
have need of me. Yet if she wishes it I have 
certainly no inclination to refuse her. ’ ’ 

“ Thank you. I am glad for the child’s sake. 
There is another thing of which I am constrained 
to speak. Mr. Davids is a member of your con- 
gregation, sir, and he would take from you a word 
of counsel regarding the girls in his establishment 
far better than he would from me; and I pray you. 
Dr. Isaacs, in the name of humanity, to speak that 
word. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ What is the complaint of the girls ?’ ’ inquired 
Rabbi Isaacs in his cold, calm tone. 

“ It is not their complaint, sir, it is mine, and 
must be that of every humane man or woman who 
sees and knows how these things are carried on. 
The complaint of the children — poor creatures ! — 
is to suffer silently until their lives are worn 
out, as our little Becca’s is; then they die and 
utter no word, neither is any word uttered for 
them.” 

A little smile again lingered about the severe 
lines of the rabbi’s face, yet somehow he grew 
interested in this young Christian minister. 


IN RABBI ISAACS’ STUDY. 139 

‘ ‘ Do you know, Dr. Isaacs, how these young 
girls are upon their feet from early morning until 
closing time, with only a few minutes at noon in 
which to rest? What man could endure it with- 
out suffering? And yet these delicate girls are 
never allowed to sit. What heathenish idea is 
this that has taken such hold of the men who own 
these large establishments? Because they are 
crazed with their greed for money they have be- 
come worse than heathen. They profess to serve 
the Lord, while they are destroying the lives of 
his little innocent children. The toil itself is 
severe enough which these young people undergo, 
and the hours are long; but to turn them into 
mere machines, to have no regard whatever for 
their tender frames and delicate natures, this is 
indeed cruel.” 

The clergyman paused, all aglow with his 
earnest words, and the rabbi replied with more 
cordiality than he had before shown, 

“I see very plainly, Mr. Youngs, the evil of 
which you speak; but how is it to be cured? We 
cannot control our neighbor’s business; he will 
scarcely even allow our criticism.” 

“But, my dear sir, you and I are bound, by vir- 
tue of our office, to try and right what is wrong in 
the world. We must speak, whether men like it 
or not; and so speaking and drawing the attention 


140 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

of humanity by our earnest words, we cannot fail 
to effect some good, to set some things right which 
are now terribly wrong. I would speak to Mr. 
Davids if he were not a member of your congre- 
gation. As it is, I feel assured that you can do it 
far better, and that he will listen to you with re- 
spect, while he might probably feel annoyed at 
me for interfering. But we must, I feel, stand 
side by side to fight and to warn against this fear- 
ful root of evil, this greed for money, which is 
gaining such a hold on all our business men. It 
makes mere animals of immortal beings. What- 
ever differences of creed there may be between us, 
surely on this point we can stand as brothers and 
as helpers for God.” 

“Yes,” replied the learned Hebrew, all his 
apathy gone and his fine face lighted with earnest 
feeling, “you speak truly and wisely; we must 
agree in such a matter as this. And I assure you, 
Mr. Youngs, I am very glad to know that I have 
such a neighbor. I have been perhaps too much 
engrossed with my books and studies and have 
not given that attention which I ought to what is 
going on around me. I will see Mr. Davids and 
speak with him in regard to the little ones. He 
is not a hard-hearted man, I think.” 

“ Probably not; only absorbed in the one idea 
of getting money. ’ ’ 


IN RABBI ISAACS’ STUDY. 


141 

“ He should go and see poor old Nathan; that 
would cure him, if anything would.” 

“Yes, it is indeed a sight to make one’s heart 
ache. I think it a mercy that litle Becca is to be 
spared any further living with such a com- 
panion. ’ ’ 

“ Poor little Becca !” said Rabbi Isaacs. 

The clergyman could not help wondering what 
were the exact grounds upon which the rabbi 
based his pity for the child. 

As for the Jewish scholar, he said within him- 
self, “ Here is a man who has not yet spoken one 
ugly word against my religion or my race, who 
has not insinuated aught, who has been courteous 
in the midst of his enthusiasm, and in speaking 
against the wrong propensities of Davids as a 
man of business has not once adverted to the fact 
of his being a Jew.” 

And he said to Mr. Youngs as they shook 
hands at parting, “I shall go directly to see little 
Becca. ’ ’ 

Then he called his little Esther and told her 
they would go that afternoon to take the flowers 
to the hospital. “ Ask mother to please give you 
a little basket, for the flowers will fade if you try 
to carry them in your hands.” 

And so these men separated, each going his 
own way to the work which was part of his life 


142 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

and which he meant to do for the glory of God; 
each with a kindlier feeling for the other, and 
one with an enlarged sense of his own responsi- 
bility because of the ‘ ‘ wise and harmless ’ ’ words 
of Christian charity spoken by the servant of 
Christ. 


FI.OWERS AT THE HOSPITAE. 


H3 


XVII. 

FEOWERS AT THE HOSPITAE. 

“He is like all young enthusiasts; he thinks 
he touches the lever which will move the world. 
He has found an error, and therefore society is to 
be straightway overturned and reorganized at his 
command. Yet there is good stuff in him. I 
like him.” 

So Rabbi Isaacs communed with himself, pa- 
cing to and fro in his quiet study while Esther 
and her nurse were arranging the flowers for the 
hospital. 

He was still a young man himself, but he had 
passed the period of boyish enthusiasm. Perhaps 
indeed he had never known any such emotional 
time. The peculiarity of his creed, the waiting 
for a great good which had been promised, pre- 
vented any strong enthusiasm in the present. No 
one ever knew of or imagined any doubt on the 
part of this teacher of Israel ; yet he had no power 
to stir and lift up the dull, feeble-hearted people 
who thronged his synagogue. He was very wise, 
full of all learning and all knowledge, yet he did 
not point with any enthusiastic joy to that hope 


144 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

yet unfulfilled; he made no soul throb with glad 
expectancy, aroused no zeal among those who 
awaited the coming glory. 

But he dwelt among his great books as a sage 
whose example was sufficient for his followers. 
They were satisfied with him. Why, indeed, 
should they be in any haste to shout “ Hosanna !” 
since they remembered those foolish ones long ago 
who had so blindly uttered that cry, the cry of an 
excited crowd, meaningless and vain ? “ We will 

not repeat the error of our forefathers,” said they, 
and were well content with the sober wisdom of 
Rabbi Isaacs. 

Tittle Esther went in her father’s carriage, 
seated at his side, carrying her basket of flowers 
for the hospital. It was a new experience for the 
child. She knew little of any poverty or any suf- 
fering which the world contained. Her life had 
been spent, so far, in the calm, clear atmosphere 
of a happy home. Her parents were wise in this 
as in many things. 

But it had seemed best to the rabbi at this 
time to let her obtain some idea of how her fel- 
low-creatures lived and what were her own spe- 
cial causes for thanksgiving to the Tord. 

If it had not been for the awakening flood of 
light which had been suddenly poured in across 
his dreamy existence by the entrance of the young 


FLOWERS AT THE HOSPITAL. 


145 


Christian clergyman with his fervent zeal, the 
rabbi’s little Esther might perhaps have gone on 
for many days more in her simple, blissful igno- 
rance. And had little Becca not gone to the hos- 
pital, this new movement of the Jewish father 
might have been indefinitely delayed. 

Eooking down into Esther’s happy face as they 
rode on, the rabbi half wondered if he was doing 
wisely. With all his learning he could see no 
farther into the future than the child herself. 
What if any harm should come of it ? But no, 
that surely could not be. He would guard against 
her hearing anything which might seem strange 
to her. At all events, he reflected as she nestled 
fondly against his enfolding arm, Esther was too 
obedient a child to even allow her thoughts to 
dwell upon any subject after he had advised to 
the contrary. He felt sure of his child. He 
wished that he were as sure of other things. 

Her childish prattle was awed into silence as 
they passed through the gateway and up the broad 
steps of the Charity Hospital. It seemed a strange, 
sombre place to her. 

The rabbi paused at the door of the office to 
speak with the physician and to announce the 
object of his visit. 

“ Ah, yes; the child has spoken of you several 
times and expressed a wish to see you. She is a 
10 


Roger Dmiliam'B Cliolce. 


146 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

little troubled by lier grandfather’s refusal to come 
to her, I think.” 

“What could the child expect, knowing the 
old man as she does?” said the rabbi, with that 
little smile of sarcasm which we have before seen 
upon his face. 

He told Esther that she might give some of 
her flowers to this little girl of whom he had been 
speaking, who was so very sick, and then go and 
divide the remainder among the other children 
while he talked with Becca. 

It was pretty to see the change in Esther’s face 
as they entered the long, sunshiny ‘ ‘ ward ’ ’ and 
she saw all the children. 

“Why, papa!” she exclaimed, half under her 
breath, while her eyes shone with varied emotions. 

“These are, most of them, poor little ones who 
have not homes where they could be properly 
taken care of. That is why little Becca is here — 
this little girl in the corner — because her grand- 
father was the only relative she had, and he was 
too old to take care of her when she became sick. 
You may choose some pretty flowers for her and 
we will go speak to her;” for he saw that Becca 
had recognized him and that she was looking 
eagerly towards him. 

With fingers that trembled from excitement 
Esther picked out a number of her sweetest bios- 


FI^OWERS AT THE HOSPITAL. 147 

soms, and put them together for the child who 
would soon be beyond the reach of earthly love 
and ministry. 

She smiled gratefully as Esther put the bright 
blossoms in her hands. But her voice was very 
weak. “Oh, thank you! Did you know how 
much I love flowers? I never had many. But 
now — ” she paused and looked earnestly up in- 
to the face of the great rabbi, as if wondering 
whether he was displeased with her. 

“Now, darling, go and give some flowers to 
the other children. I will call you when I am 
ready. ’ ’ 

He took Becca’s hand in his, and the wise 
man was at a loss for words to say to the dying 
child. 

“They told me that He loved flowers, too — 
Jesus, you know, sir, the Messiah. I’m afraid 
you are very angry with me; but oh, I couldn’t 
help it; and I never was so happy, so really glad, 
until I heard about — my Saviour.” 

She whispered the last words in a reverent, 
loving tone, that could not but touch the heart of 
the man who stood there, and who in his creed 
called that Saviour an impostor. 

“And are you quite happy now, my child?” 

“Oh, yes, sir.” 

“And not afraid of dying ?” 


148 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

“No, sir; not afraid at all. Why, Jesus died 
once, and I think he will come and stay by me. 
I shall see the Messiah, and my mother too. Oh, 
no, I am not afraid. ’ ’ 

She waited a little to regain her breath. Then 
she said pleadingly, “You are not very angry, 
sir?” 

“Certainly not, little Becca. If you are con- 
tented and happy, I will not be angry; but I will 
only hope that God may bless you and take care 
of you better than we have done.” 

There was a sad emphasis upon these last 
words, spoken as if to himself, which told how the 
fact of this child’s conversion to Christianity 
troubled him. Yet perhaps not that alone, either. 
The mind of the great student, whom men called 
“ Rabbi,” was not satisfied; his heart did not rest 
in the hope which it professed to believe. There- 
fore he was the more disturbed when this little 
child, who had been taught his creed, turned 
away in her simplicity and said, “ I never was so 
happy till I heard about my Saviour.” 

Her grateful eyes rested on his face, and she 
said feebly, “Thank you, sir. I ’m sure you ’ll go 
in and see my poor old grandfather sometimes 
after I ’m gone.” 

“I will do so, my child.” 

She seemed weary and exhausted, so he bade 


FI^OWKRS AT THE HOSPITAL. 149 

her good-by, leaving her in the hands of the phy- 
sician and nurse, who were more watchful than 
mere “hirelings” would have been. 

Rabbi Isaacs was very quiet and full of serious 
thought as he rode homeward with his little 
daughter. 

As for her — wxll, she had taken her first step 
out on the great field of the world and had seen 
the wild flowers that grow and blossom among 
the thorns and weeds along the wayside; wind- 
torn and tossed by the storms of life, many of 
them, drooping and only saved by the hands of 
those angels of merey whom God appoints for the 
blessed work. 

This cherished home-garden flower, w^hat could 
she understand of it all? she who had never known 
a want unfulfilled, never lifted her sweet face but 
a ray of warm sunlight or a drop of blessed dew 
fell upon it. She could only understand enough 
of this outside world to be filled with questioning 
and wonder. 

The patient father, absorbed in certain won- 
derings of his own, yet contrived to reply to all 
her queries in such a way as to please and content 
the little maiden. The burden of the world’s 
mystery and woe rested, as yet, lightly on the 
young heart. Did not the Almighty rule all 
things, and could anything go very much wrong 


150 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

in such guidance? Blessed, happy youth, that 
sees only God and his goodness, not man and the 
power of his sinfulness ! 

Rabbi Isaacs was somewhat in doubt as to his 
next step in the path of duty. Without question, 
had he followed the inclinations which were most 
urgent at that moment, he would have gone home 
to his delightfully quiet study among his precious 
books, where he could “think it all over” un- 
disturbed by any outward influence. 

But it had never been his habit to shun any 
obvious path of duty, however unpromising it 
might be. And now his spirit yearned for some- 
thing deflnite, some clear, sure index pointing 
where he could unhesitatingly follow, something 
which he knew was right, small and limited 
though it might be. 

Ah ! was it not that the proud, high mind had 
not yet accepted the Master’s word, “Verily I say 
unto you, except ye be converted and become as 
little children, ye shall not enter into the king- 
dom of heaven”? He was looking, longing for 
the kingdom, yet he was not willing to become 
as a little child, laying the treasures of his mind 
and all his store of learning at the Master’s feet, 
counting all as nothing compared with the excel- 
lency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus his Lord. 

And since he had not done this and was tossed 


FLOWERS AT THE HOSPITAL. 


151 

in spirit and not comforted with the word which 
he preached to others, he turned with a resolute 
sigh to the nearest duty, distasteful and weari- 
some, yet satisfying in some degree, because it 
was a duty. 

He took little Esther in to her mother, dis- 
missed the carriage, and started off, walking brisk- 
ly towards the home of the Hebrew miser, Jacob 
Nathan. 

There was nothing in common, unless it were 
the bare formula of the religion they professed, 
between these two men. The sly, miserly, inac- 
tive old man was utterly incapable of touching 
any chord of sympathy in the heart of the high- 
minded, generous, energetic rabbi. 

Dr. Isaacs had kept a sort of negligent watch 
over little Becca for some years, for the sake of 
her own simple, pure-hearted childhood. But at 
last she had grown beyond his reach. He saw 
now how it had been. Her eager young mind 
and her unsatisfying life had aroused her to a 
questioning, a yearning for something; and there 
had been those who were ready and glad to give 
her such counsel as had brought content. 

Had he not been to blame in this? Yes, he 
acknowledged to himself that he had. 

In all creeds the leaders are waking to the fact 
that the children must have early and careful in- 


152 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

struction; that their little wonderings must be 
met and satisfied, so that they may not stumble 
into the world’s ready snares; that when the keen 
and active young spirit looks forth with question- 
ing gaze, suddenly some early morning lifting 
lids yet dewy with the innocence of childhood to 
peer into the great dim future, there must stand 
ready those who can say in such wise as to win 
obedience, “ This is the way; walk ye in it.” 


THE PASCHAE EAMB. 


153 


XVIII. 

THE PASCHAE EAMB. 

There were wonderful days in that spring- 
time — days which never faded from Sara Roth- 
mann’s memory. 

The Baster-time was late, and those who kept 
that time reverently and gladly had abundant en- 
couragement for hope, as nature showed them how 
the resurrection season touched her and brought 
new life into every dead branch and from every 
inch of dark mould. 

The great, dusty, toil-worn city was “alive 
again” certainly. Flowers were everywhere. 
This blessed token of higher life, sweeter thought, 
nobler aspirations, the love of flowers, has shown 
itself all over our land. 

Call it a “fashion,” a fancy, a craze, if you 
please; but whatever you may call it, a very good 
and pleasant thing it is; and I believe it is given 
of God. Nothing beautiful wholly fails in its 
mission; it accomplishes that whereto it was sent. 
So will the flowers. So they are beginning to do 
already. 

Sara Rothmann took note of this wonderingly 
in her walks among the poorer districts. 


154 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

She felt too some things which had never 
touched her life in any former spring. Jesus had 
“died and risen again.” And from that fact 
sprang the joyful hope of Christians. Were not 
even the flowers and trees and the new grass each 
telling the story, the great redemption story, the 
story of life out of death, of light out of darkness? 
And if this great chorus was ringing over all the 
earth, if such myriads of hearts yielded to the 
story and took hope therefrom, surely, surely it 
must be true. Why should any turn from it, de- 
spising its joy and counting it an idle tale ? 

There was a childlike simplicity in Sara Roth- 
mann’s heart which fitted her to accept the story 
of salvation. All that she had read and studied 
had made her neither proud nor self-sufiicient. 
She had that large charity, that well-rounded in- 
telligence, which can view a subject from every 
side. 

We all lean towards the faith of our childhood, 
the doctrine in which we have been “brought 
up.” It is always hard to set aside as naught 
that which our youth has regarded with rever- 
ence. Yet sometimes this must be done. And 
to Sara Rothmann came now this stern necessity. 
She might no longer defer the acknowledgment 
of that which she had found an all-satisfying and 
comforting truth. 


THE PASCHAE LAMB. 


155 


She had been strangely impressed by the sing- 
ing of some Easter music as she passed by one of 
the churches where the people were gathering to 
celebrate the resurrection of our Lord. The whole 
theme was so new to her that its gracious influ- 
ence touched her the more deeply. 

The Passover feast and the deliverance that it 
commemorated was an old and familiar story to 
her. But that the paschal lamb was the type of 
One called “the Lamb of God,” who had been 
slain as the atonement for the sins of the world 
and had risen again to give unto us eternal life, 
that was a new and wondrous thought. 

Through the opening doors of the church as 
the crowds of worshippers were entering came the 
peal of the organ telling in grand and joyful tones 
the truth of the day. 

As Sara lingered and then passed in, urged 
onward by a strong impulse, the momentary 
silence was broken by some such words as 
these: 

“ He who gave for us his life, 

Who for us endured the strife, 

Is our Paschal Lamb to-day.” 

And the chorus, loud and joyous, “Alleluia!” 
swelled and throbbed on the sweet air of nature’s 
resurrection-time. 

Tears filled the listener’s eyes. He was the 


156 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

Lamb given for the world’s ransom, he whom 
Jews had in their blindness slain !. 

Would they ever hail him as their rightful 
King? Would they ever lift up their eyes and 
see, not that meek and suffering object of their 
scorn upon the cross, but One seated at God’s 
right hand, mighty to save even them? 

It seemed as if a wave of cleansing swept over 
her and she stood freed from the sins of her peo- 
ple and her own sins — a Jew, yet a soul loved and 
ransomed by that Messiah whom the Jews, and 
she among them, had rejected. Henceforth for 
her to live must be Christ! 

The blessed meaning of that hour never left 
her. In after years she could look back to that 
day and feel the sweet influence still : the perfume 
of the Easter flowers, the soft spring breeze that 
moved through the open window, the glorious 
organ strains, and the words of that simple, sub- 
lime story which seemed to set heaven open to 
her view, where He whom her people. His people, 
had slain, sat ever pleading with the Father for 
those whom He loved with an everlasting love. 

It made all life’s troubles and trials seem very 
small. What did it matter, after all, that she 
was misunderstood by some whose opinion she 
regarded highly? Was not He also scorned and 
rejected by those for whom he had done so much? 


THE PASCHAE LAMB. 


157 


What matter that some unknown foe had cast re- 
proach upon her ? He was the one perfect Being 
in all the world, and the}^ had reviled him. Yes, 
all her life was set in a new light, and new strength 
came for each burden, so that she stood upright 
and joined gladly in the strain, “Behold the 
Lamb of God !” 

Her brother was at home when she went in. 
He had been with Roger Dunham, he said. But 
when he noticed his sister’s face he grew quiet, 
watching the beauty of its expression lighted by 
the spirit within. 

After a time, when they were alone together, 
Deane said suddenly, “Sara, you don’t dislike 
my friend Dunham, do you?” 

“Why, Deane, certainly not.” 

“I believe he thinks you do. I’ve wondered 
why he came here for a few evenings and seemed 
to enjoy it so well, and then suddenly stopped. I 
tried to find out to-day, but all he would say was 
that you avoided him, and he did not want to in- 
trude upon you in your own home.” 

“He has made a mistake, I think,” she said 
quietly. “But, Deane, I would like to speak to 
you of something more important.” 

And she told him of the ripening of her faith 
in Christ and of her decision to confess him as 
her Saviour. 


158 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

“And, Deane, I am going to see Dr. Isaacs 
and talk with him. Then we must decide what 
is the next step and tell mother.” 

“Is it necessary to see Dr. Isaacs ?’ ’ he asked, 
sig-hinof, with a man’s dread of “scenes” and un- 
pleasant things. 

“Not necessary, perhaps, Deane, but very 
right and proper. He is one whose word and 
advice have always had weight with me, and I 
would not wish to take any important step with- 
out at least speaking to him about it. ’ ’ 

“I suppose you are right, Sara. He is, at all 
events, a thorough gentleman; and whatever he 
may think of what you tell him, he will say noth- 
ing unpleasant or unkind. If you would rather I 
should go with you, I can arrange it. Or per- 
haps you are going to-day.” 

“Oh, I shall not mind going alone. But am 
I to speak for you too, Deane ?’ ’ 

“Yes; I too am convinced that ‘we have 
found the Messiah;’” and it was evident from 
Deane’s whole manner as he said these words 
that, in his case also, heart as well as mind gladly 
acknowledged the claims of Christ and gave him 
place. “ I only wait for you to decide what is to 
be our course. Let us, if possible, avoid making 
a fuss,” he added, “and having all our private 
affairs published among our acquaintances.” 


THE PASCHAE LAMB. 1 59 

His sister smiled. That was the thing which 
troubled her the least. If she was right and if 
the rabbi did not hurt her with ‘anything he 
might say, then she had but one care, and that 
was — her mother. 

“I do like that Mr. Youngs, Dunham’s friend,” 
Deane said, after a little silence, “and I am great- 
ly inclined, if you agree with me, to lay the mat- 
ter before him and get his advice. Have you any 
objection to such a plan, Sara?” 

She was silent and thoughtful for a moment. 
“ No, I don’t think of any reason why we should 
not go to Mr. Youngs. He is an honorable, dis- 
creet gentleman, and one who understands a thing 
thoroughly before he ventures an opinion. At 
least that is my idea of him.” 

“ Dunham is devoted to him, thinks he is the 
best fellow living. I don’t see,” Deane added 
musingly, “why Dunham has conceived such a 
notion of your feelings towards him.” 

“Well, whatever it has arisen from, we must 
ignore it. I am inclined to suspect your friend is 
only using that as an excuse for acting as the rest 
of the Christian world act” 

“Oh, now, Sara, that is uncharitable, and I 
am sure it is untrue. Dunham has never, in the 
time I have known him, shown the slightest dif- 
ference towards me on account of my nationality. 


i6o rogp:r Dunham’s choice. 

And when he speaks of you it is always with the 
utmost deference and courtesy. How he has acted 
in your presence you know as well as 1.” 

“Perhaps I am unjust to him. I would not 
willingly be so. Yet I must beg of you, Deane, 
not to attempt any explanation of my conduct or 
any defence of me. There is nothing to be ex- 
plained. If Mr. Dunham has taken up a false 
notion, let him rid himself of it in his own time 
and way. Now I think if mother does not want 
me for anything, I will go to see Dr. Isaacs. 
That, after all, is the important matter, and not 
your friend Mr. Dunham’s notions.” 

She made an effort to speak playfully and 
smile. But, knowing what she did, it was diffi- 
cult for her. As yet she would trouble nobody 
with that which had caused her so much pain. 
There were, as she had said, other things more 
important; and she could afford to be patient, to 
treat the matter as a mere unkind trick played 
upon her by one of the many people who disliked 
her race and her religion. She believed it to be 
just that, though who the unkind person was she 
had not an idea; neither did it trouble her, except 
in so far as she feared there might be a grain of 
truth in the cruel words and that Mr. Dunham 
himself had started them. 

Her brother looked at her rather suspiciously 


THE PASCHAE EAMB. 


l6l 


as she made her little effort at pleasantry. Then 
he too dropped the subject for one of more vital 
importance to both of them. Bach had a task to 
perform, and before that holy day’s last hour had 
gone by each task had been fulfilled and the first 
steps taken in the new life. 

Surely He who gave his promise to Abraham, 
and whose performance is always abundant above 
measure, would still keep and guide these two 
whom he had already led by his Word and Spirit 
out of the old way in which they had been trained 
into the new and living Way that he had opened 
in his well-beloved Son ! 


Roper Dunhatn'H Cliolne. 


II 


i 62 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


XIX. 

FAREWELL TO THE HOSPITAL. 

Before Miss Rothmann was quite ready to 
go out she was interrupted by a messenger. He 
brought word from the Charity Hospital that lit- 
tle Becca was dying, and that if Miss Rothmann 
would like to be present once more at the child’s 
bedside, Mr. Youngs had sent a carriage that she 
might lose no time. 

‘ ‘ How very thoughtful and kind !’ ’ she said 
to herself as she hastened to avail herself of this 
provision. She had seen many instances of this 
young clergyman’s kindness and his thought for 
others during the short period of their acquaint- 
ance. 

Now he had thought of her in the midst of his 
many cares, and she knew well that for any one 
among the great number of his people he would 
have shown the same quick and kindly consider- 
ation. It was the man’s habit to act and think 
first for others. But what a beautiful character, 
and how'rare even among those who call them- 
selves after the name of that one supremely un- 
selfish Exemplar, Christ! Christians do not suffi- 


FAREWELL TO THE HOSPITAL. 163 

ciently regard that holy name that they bear. It 
becomes through long usage too familiar, too 
trite. But to one who, like Miss Rothmann, is 
just beginning to study the title, it has a sacred- 
ness, a wondrous significance, which perhaps it 
had first centuries ago, when the ascended Shep- 
herd’s flock spoke it with reverent memories, ma- 
king it the badge of their discipleship, the watch- 
word by which all should know whose they were 
and whom they served. 

In a very short time Miss Rothmann reached 
the bedside of the dying child. 

She had hoped that Becca’s grandfather would 
have relented and gone to speak once more to the 
little one who had served him so lovingly and 
faithfully. 

But no; the heart of Jacob Nathan was hard- 
ened and responded to no tender feelings or influ- 
ences. He had seen so many of his people grow 
rich, ascending step by step from toiling poverty 
and hoarded small earnings to wealth and ease, 
that it had become the one effort of his life to fol- 
low on after their example. He had not cared to 
make any change in his own mode of life. He 
had all that his narrow nature demanded. But 
he wanted to be known as a “rich man,” to leave 
a great amount of money, to have people say he 
had done well by his grandchild, and to have them 


164 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

wonder and conjecture what she would do, being 
an heiress, how she would live, what splendor she 
could enjoy, etc. 

But he meant that she should do her share, 
adding little by little to the precious hoard, and 
coming finally into the full enjoyment of it all. 

Poor, foolish old man ! The thought grew 
until it became a mania, and he rightly bore the 
title of “miser.” It grew and filled all his life, 
to the exclusion of all nobler feelings. And so, 
when he learned that Becca must die and prevent 
the fulfilment of his cherished hopes, he was ut- 
terly wretched and vexed, the more so as he could 
not tell any one of his disappointment, but must 
bear it alone and in silence. 

What, then, should he do with Becca’ s for- 
tune? It was too late for him to use it for his 
own aggrandizement, and he had no relatives 
whom he might put in little Becca’ s place. No; 
he was quite at a loss. Day and night the thought 
of his hoarded money haunted him, until sudden- 
ly, about a week after Miss Rothmann had visited 
him and shown how much she was interested in 
his grandchild, he conceived a new idea — a strange 
one truly, yet one which clung to him persistently 
and which seemed to be the solution of all his 
troublesome doubts. 

Why not make this beautiful young lady his 


FAREWKI,!. TO THE HOSPITAE. 1 65 

heiress? She was one of his own nation; she 
would doubtless appreciate his motive; and if she 
chose she might make any charitable gifts which 
seemed to her appropriate. She was, he could 
see, a charitable young lady, and in her hands his 
precious money would “show for something.” 
Therefore he set himself to work upon that idea, 
and after due thought sent for his lawyer. That 
keen person seemed struck with the peculiarity of 
his employer’s notion. 

“ Does the young lady know of your intention, 
sir?” he asked quietly, after he had patiently lis- 
tened to Mr. Nathan’s statement. 

“ Well, no, I can’t say that she does. But — 
well, what would you advise, Mr. Daniels?” 

Mr. Daniels advised him by all means to ac- 
quaint Miss Rothmann with his intention, inti- 
mating that possibly she might hesitate about 
accepting such a position towards one who was so 
nearly a stranger to her. 

“But she is devoted to my grandchild,” ex- 
claimed the old man; and he gave a detailed de- 
scription of her fondness for Becca, her attention 
to her at the hospital, and also her kind behavior 
t© himself. 

All of which was somewhat tedious, to be sure, 
to the lawyer; but he knew how to recompense 
himself. His time was money; and if Jacob Na- 


l66 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

than was in any wise puzzled about disposing of 
his hoard, why, a high-sounding lawyer’s bill 
should help him somewhat. 

In the midst of such negotiations as these how 
could the old Hebrew give any thought or^^atten- 
tion to that grandchild who had deserted the faith 
and given herself over to the Gentiles? And so 
it came to pass that Miss Rothmann was disap- 
pointed and looked in vain for the grandfather at 
the bedside of the dying child. 

There was little that could be called sad in the 
death of Becca Nathan. There was so much more 
for her in the beyond than even a childish vision 
could discern in this life that the going was sim- 
ply a happiness. 

“Everybody has been kind to me here; and 
Jesus will be even a great deal kinder,” she said, 
with her little hands clasped and her dark eyes 
lighted with a firm trust. She gladly recognized 
Miss Rothmann and the other friends gathered 
about her with the sympathy and love that 
childhood never fails to call forth from many 
hearts. 

She could not talk much, but she expressed a 
wish that Miss Rothmann should see her grand.- 
father and tell him how sorry she was not to have 
him by her once more. 

Then she turned her eyes full upon the “beau- 


FARWELL TO THE HOSPITAL. 167 

tiful young lady ” with a great pleading in them. 
No one present understood the look except the 
lady herself. She leaned low over the child and 
whispered in slow, clear tones, 

“Becca, I am praying, for Jesus’ sake, that I 
may go to meet you in heaven some day. We 
are Jews, Becca, but Jews who love the Messiah 
who died. ’ ’ 

A joyous light shone over the little face; the 
lips moved, but the listener could only catch the 
words “ So glad !” 

Mr. Youngs offered a short prayer that God 
would receive the young spirit that was leaving 
its earthly frame and give it an abode among his 
happy redeemed ones. 

Becca smiled faintly, as though she had heard 
and understood. There was a moment of uncer- 
tain waiting and watching, and then, “Jesus! — 
mother!” she said in clear, rapturous tones; and 
little Becca’s spirit was free, her life of toil was 
ended. 

A soft, sweet strain sounded among a group of 
lame and convalescent children, swelling gently 
till it filled the long room and seemed bearing up 
the ransomed child-soul to the realms of bliss. 

“ I heard the voice of Jesus say, 

‘ Come unto me and rest ; 

Lay down, thou weary one, lay down 
Thy head upon my breast.’ 


l68 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

“ I came to Jesus as I was, 

Weary and worn and sad ; 

I found in him a resting-place, 

And he has made me glad.” 

One of the habitual visitors at the hospital, a 
lady who was familiar with Becca’s history, had 
gathered the little ones who were able to sing, 
and without any formality or confusion they sang 
the low, sweet farewell hymn. 

Yes, she was at rest surely. No 'more cruel 
words of scorn, no harsh commands, could reach 
her. Becca was at rest for ever, because she had 
gone to Jesus “as she was,” burdened and sor- 
rowful for the sins of her nation, conscious of her 
own weakness and need, longing for something 
true and helpful. 

Miss Rothmann wept at the children’s sweet 
singing as she had not wept for Becca. Her heart 
was very full with many mingled emotions, and 
the words of the simple hymn touched her deeply. 

There was no longer the slightest remnant of 
doubt in her mind. Having seen that child die 
was full confirmation of the faith that had already 
been so strengthened in the morning. 

When she was calm enough to speak she went 
to Mr. Youngs to offer any services which might 
be helpful and to ask about the funeral. 

He looked at her with great interest and said 
in a low, persuasive tone, “How beautiful it is 


FAREWELL TO THE HOSPITAL. 169 

to see a Christian die! What a sure confirmation 
it is of the truth of redemption through Christ!” 

“Yes, Mr. Youngs; there has been nothing 
which has appealed to me more strongly. I 
should like to die with such calmness and such 
assurance of hope as little Becca had.” 

^ “We must, truly, all become as little children 
if we would enter the kingdom of heaven. ’ ’ 

She passed, with a few gentle words and 
touches, the group of saddened little ones. As 
she reached the door some one stood beside her 
and uttered her name. It was Roger Dunham, 
who had made his usual Sunday call in that 
neighborhood and followed his friend to the hos- 
pital. 

“You will allow me to walk home with you, 
I hope. Miss Rothmann ?’ ’ he asked eagerly, yet 
with much respect in voice and manner. 

“Thank you, Mr. Dunham; but I am not go- 
ing home.” 

She passed out quickly, before he had time to 
say more; and her cold, polite manner showed 
him quite plainly that his company was not agree- 
able to her. 

He sighed and said to himself, as the best pos- 
sible consolation, “Well, it is for Dana’s sake. 
She likes him best.” 


170 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


XX. 

MISS ROTHMANN AND THE RABBI. 

It was a somewhat unusual occurrence for 
Rabbi Isaacs to have a lady visitor. Even the 
male members of his congregation held rather 
aloof from him at his own home, regarding him 
as a busy student whose time was too precious to 
be at their command except on very serious and 
important occasions. Yet when the necessity for 
aid or counsel was apparent, none ever called on 
Dr. Isaacs in vain. All found him a true and 
sympathizing friend, a wise and careful guide. 

And so, in this time of need, Sara Rothmann 
turned unhesitatingly to him who had ever been 
her kind and faithful leader in spiritual matters. 
Her heart beat fast as she passed on, intent upon 
her great purpose. 

The learned rabbi sat in his study, busy, as he 
ever was, with books and pen. His face, that was 
still a youthful face, bore marks and lines of deep 
thought. It was even careworn and weary in its 
appearance at times, chiefly because that was 
wanting which can light the dullest countenance 
with radiance, the peace and joy shed into the 


MISS ROTHMANN AND THE RABBI. 171 

heart that is open to the true Light of the 
world. 

When Sara Rothmann entered he arose, with 
an air of pleased surprise, for she was one of his 
favorite “children,” as he expressed it. Yet 
there was a certain sinking of his heart, too, for 
he felt that she had come to him for advice. 

“Will you sit here in my ‘dull old study,’ as 
Esther calls it ?’ ’ 

“Yes, if you please, sir; for I want to speak 
especially to you. I will see dear little Esther 
afterwards, if you allow me.” 

There was a sad, falling cadence in her last 
words which did not escape the ear of the watch- 
ful Hebrew teacher. It startled him, too, so that 
he was almost relieved when she next spoke, say- 
ing, “Little Becca Nathan died an hour ago, sir. 
I have just come from the hospital.” 

“Ah? Poor little Becca!” he said. “A 
strange child, a very peculiar child!” 

“You have known her always, sir, have you 
not ?’ ’ asked the young lady. 

And he began to wonder if there was to be 
anything more required of him, remembering the 
visit from the Christian minister. “Yes, I have 
known Becca and her family,” he said. “But 
there is nothing more that I can do, you know.” 

It was as if he had said, “Let those Chris- 


172 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

tians who stole the child from the true religion 
now bury their dead.” 

Miss Rothmann almost trembled at his stern, 
cold tone. Ah, if she had known all the doubt 
and misgiving which tore the man’s soul, she 
would have pitied him and not wondered at his 
way of speaking. 

“Why, no, sir, of course not. At least, I sup- 
pose not. But poor little Becca told me you were 
very kind to her, and as she expressed it, ‘did not 
scold her at all. ’ ’ ’ 

A sad smile touched the young lady’s lips and 
was reflected in the rabbi’s dark face. 

“Who could blame the child?” he said. 
“Silly little lambs will run after any who call 
loudest.” 

“Oh, sir! oh. Dr. Isaacs, I beg you not to 
speak so. I came to tell you something and you 
take from me all my courage. You have always 
been my friend and helper; listen to me now, I 
pray, and do not judge me too severely.” 

“Say on, my daughter,” he said in his calm 
way after a moment’s pause. And there was a 
deep sadness in his face and voice which made 
the girl almost repent and remain silent. 

But he waited, and slowly she told him all. 
It had been through no one’s influence, she gave 
him to thoroughly understand; it had been the 


MISS ROTHMANN AND THE RABBI. 173 

thought, the awakening, of her own heart, delib- 
erately studied out and prayed over. It had been 
a question with her for months, not the impulse 
of a moment or of any special occasion. She had 
consulted with her brother, Deane, who thought 
as she did. Before making her wishes and in- 
tentions known to others she had come to the rab- 
bi, feeling that he had the first, best right to her 
confidence, as he had ever been her steadfast 
friend and counsellor. 

He heard her through without a word or a 
motion to interrupt. He sat so perfectly still and 
apparently unmoved that she almost fancied some 
one had discovered her secret and told him before. 

When she had finished how very still the room 
was! She could hear the rabbi’s great, old-fash- 
ioned gold watch, which she remembered as a lit- 
tle child, ticking in his pocket, though he sat on 
the opposite side of the study-table. 

Oh, why did he not speak? Did he, then, 
turn from her as from one utterly unworthy ? She 
bowed her head and the tears fell upon her clasped 
hands. He saw it and his heart ached with its 
utter inability to offer that perfect sympathy or 
else that wise reproof and guidance which the girl 
needed. 

He rose and stood by her side. Then she felt 
his hand upon her head and she remembered all 


174 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

the years that she had listened to his instructions 
and followed his counsels, all the years in which 
he had called her his child — though not so great 
a distance lay between their ages — and in which 
his wisdom and his place of honor among men 
had made her pleased and proud at the title. 

‘ ‘ My child, ’ ’ he said now, “if it is your own 
deliberate, thoughtful choice to leave the religion 
of your fathers and to join the Christian people, 
may you be happy in it and, if it be possible, may 
you have the blessing of God!” 

His voice shook and he went back to his chair, 
resting his arms upon the table and burying his 
face in his hands. 

She heard a whisper, almost a groan, “Would 
to God that I could see as she sees!” 

A. quick throb of joy stirred her soul. Oh, 
surely, surely he must see — he, the student, the 
man of thought and learning! 

Alas; it was his learning, his pride of wisdom, 
which prevented him from kneeling at the cross 
of Him whom his people refused and accepting 
the salvation he offered. 

He seemed so troubled that Miss Rothmann 
said, “ I will go now. Dr. Isaacs. I have grieved 
you with my story, but it is no child’s fancy; and 
I thank you for your kind forbearance. May I — 
would you let me ever speak to you again?” 


MISS ROTHMANN AND THE RABBI. 1 75 

“I will come to see you and Deane,” he an- 
swered, rising. “And your mother, my child?” 

“ I have yet to tell my mother, sir. Oh, it is 
very hard!” 

He saw that it was, and he forbore to question 
her further or to comment upon what she had 
told him. 

But if there was one heart more sad than Miss 
Rothmann’s as she passed from the rabbi’s door 
that afternoon, it was the heart of that rabbi 
himself as he sat alone in the silence and pon- 
dered the girl’s story. He felt as if the founda- 
tions were giving way, as if all that he had been 
wont to consider firm and enduring were crum- 
bling to dust beneath his feet. What, indeed, 
was there in which a man could place his trust 
and not be disappointed ? 

‘ ‘ Behold, I lay in Zion for a foundation a stone, 
a tried stone, a precious corner-stone, a sure foun- 
dation,” something seemed to say to him in the 
stillness. 

His thought went back, far, far back, into that 
wonderful past when the Lord had deigned to 
come and speak to his servants, telling them di- 
rectly and unmistakably of his will. He longed 
for those olden days. Why had all this been, this 
uncertainty and doubt about him whom some men 
called Messiah, and who, though the rulers of 


176 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

Israel had judged him a blasphemer and caused 
him to be put to death, seemed to be truly immor- 
tal in the world’s history and to be gaining vic- 
tory after victory, while Israel stood still or lapsed 
into infidelity? 

“ The stone which the builders rejected is be- 
come the head of the corner,” memory suggested 
again, so clearly that the rabbi started. He 
chafed under the suggestion. His whole being 
seemed disturbed and rebellious. Finally, in 
sheer despair, seeing no light that he was willing 
to follow, he called his little daughter and went 
with her out into the cheerful sunset glow, listen- 
ing to her light-hearted prattle and talking with 
her of birds and flowers and all the things that 
childhood loves, yet all the while ignorant of the 
great truth that he himself must become humble 
and teachable as that very “little child” before 
he could find peace and satisfaction. 

The rabbi told Esther that the little one at the 
hospital was dead, and that she might, if she 
wished, send some flowers for the burial. She 
was pleased with the idea, though the thought of 
death clouded her sweet, bright face for a time. 

More than once her father roused her from her 
musings and tried to turn her mind to lighter 
thoughts; but at last she said in her quaint, rev- 
erent way, 


MISS ROTHMANN AND THE RABBI. 177 

‘ ‘ Papa, I don’t want to die. I shall pray to 
God to take me up like Elijah. I want to go up 
where it is pretty, not down into the dark ground. ’ ’ 

Of course he explained it all to her, as he had 
done before; but she still maintained her resolve 
to “ask the Eord,” with a very evident hope that 
her request might be granted. 

She had lived a strange life, this little Hebrew 
maiden. Most of her stories had been those of the 
Old Testament. Very little of the modern litera- 
ture for children was given her to enjoy. 

But those old Bible stories filled her mind, and 
she frequently referred to them in her walks with 
her father or mother. They were very real to her, 
and often she could be seen playing with her dolls 
at “Moses in the bulrushes,” or with her finest 
doll arrayed as “ Queen Esther.” But her favor- 
ite play was “Adam and Eve in the garden of 
Eden,” which garden she would decorate with 
flowers from her own little plot and bits of ever- 
green for trees. 

She was happy in these plays, so happy that 
her father sighed as he watched her and thought 
of the unknown future, which would doubtless 
cloud that bright face and bring pain to that gay, 
simple heart. 


Roffer Dunham’s Choice. 


12 


178 


ROGIiR DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


XXI. 

THE UNWEECOME LEGACY. 

The summer came on apace. Tittle Becca 
was laid to rest, and a few days after Dana Youngs 
sent word to Miss Rothmann that old Jacob Na- 
than wished to see her. She did not think of this 
as specially strange. She imagined that he wished 
to hear particulars of his grandchild’s death and 
burial, and rather censured herself for not going 
to him sooner and telling him about it. 

She started out without the least hesitation on 
the day appointed. When she reached the avenue 
which led away from her accustomed walks the 
ever-thoughtful clergyman was there to be her 
guide to the old man’s room. 

“It is such an out-of-the-way place I cannot 
bear to think of your going there unattended. 
You will let me go with you. Miss Rothmann?” 

“Why, certainly, if you can spare time, sir; 
and I thank you very truly for your kindness.” 

‘ ‘ There are always duties which call me to 
that neighborhood, so that I never lose time in 
going there. Even if it were otherwise. Miss 
Rothmann, I should consider myself greatly priv- 


THE UNWELCOME LEGACY. 1 79 

ileged in being allowed to be in such cases your 
escort and guide.” 

So they went once more together to the “ He- 
brew quarter.” 

When old Jacob Nathan saw the clergyman 
he looked half vexed and declared boldly, “I 
wanted to see the young lady alone.” 

Mr. Youngs looked at his companion inqui- 
ringly, and she smiled fearlessly. 

“That is easily arranged, Mr. Nathan,” he 
said then. “I came only as an escort to Miss 
Rothmann, not to intrude; and I can occupy my- 
self outside until you have said all you wish.” 

The old man appeared quite satisfied with this 
arrangement, and Mr. Youngs withdrew, casting 
back from the door as he went out another look 
at the young lady, to make sure that she did not 
regret her decision. 

But no, she was smiling and calm and had 
evidently not the slightest dread of Becca’s grand- 
father. Fifteen minutes later she would very 
gladly have seen the minister standing there that 
she might appeal to him to speak for her and 
take her part against the old man’s determined 
will. 

Words can but feebly express her astonish- 
ment, her dismay, and her indignation when first 
she fully comprehended Mr. Nathan’s large inten- 


l8o ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

tions for her. Yet in her wisdom she realized 

r 

that he was not capable of any insult towards her, 
that he had simply meant to do her a great kind- 
ness. Therefore she was careful, while positively 
and emphatically refusing to become his heiress, 
to show an appreciation of his generosity. 

But that was not what the old man desired. 
He was quite captivated with the ingenuity of his 
own idea, with his own wisdom in finding this 
way out of a perplexity, when Becca could no 
longer be the inheritor of his fortune. And he 
felt that Miss Rothmann did not do him justice 
when she hesitated about accepting his wondrous 
bounty. 

He did not mind listening to a few words of 
protest, of surprise, of doubt; but to hear a posi- 
tive refusal was a thing which he had not in any 
wise prepared for. He was very angry when at 
last it was made quite clear to him that the young 
lady would not accept the favor he had intended 
to bestow upon her. 

She spoke very gently and gratefully. She 
tried to show him that she had all the money she 
could ever use, and that it would be far wiser and 
more generous if he arranged to donate his fortune 
to some noble charity. 

But he was too angry to listen to any such 
proposal. He had never been accustomed to be 


THi: UNWELCOME legacy. l8l 

thwarted in his schemes, and it vexed him ex- 
ceedingly that this girl, who he imagined would 
take Becca’s place so gladly, should dare refuse 
and even suggest to him some other method of 
disposing of his money. 

At length he was so persistent and so annoyed 
at her persistence that she determined to give him 
a reason why he should not make her his heir- 
ess — a reason which she knew very well would 
settle the whole matter at once. It hurt her to 
speak of it, but she saw no other way out of the 
dilemma. 

“Mr. Nathan,” she said, rising and invol- 
untarily moving nearer the door, “I cannot ex- 
press to you how greatly I thank you and how I 
appreciate your kind thoughts for me. It would 
please me beyond measure, and far more than re- 
ceiving any fortune myself, to have you bequeath 
this to some charity. If, on thinking it over, 
you should decide to do so, I shall be ready to 
help you select a worthy object, find out all I can 
for you about it, and always maintain an interest 
in it. But” — and she had good reason for con- 
tinuing, as the old man had been angrily inter- 
rupting all. she said — “ if you still insist on your 
desire for my personal acceptance of your gift, I 
must tell you a truth which will certainly cause 
you to change your mind. Mr. Nathan, I am a 


i82 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

Jewess by birth and proud of the fact, but I am 
about to publicly adopt the Christian faith !” 

A dark shade crept slowly over the old man’s 
impatient countenance, which showed that now 
he was even more deeply moved than he had pre- 
viously been. A wail peculiar to himself, and 
which he indulged in on occasions of sudden and 
great sorrow, broke the silence which had for an 
instant followed Miss Rothmann’s last acknowl- 
edgment. Evidently he did not doubt her word. 
He did not for a moment think that she had told 
him this to save herself from further annoyance. 
He .accepted what she had said as truth and was 
roused accordingly. 

She waited a moment and caught the sound of 
the tumultuous mingling of bitter words: “ Hyp- 
ocrites, every one! The Almighty’s wrath be 
upon them all I Oh, young woman — ” 

‘‘Excuse me, sir, and I will leave you now. 
I am very sorry to have made so much trouble and 
disappointment for you. If I had known what 
you intended saying to me I should not have come 
here at all to-day. It has only brought vexation 
to you. I hope you will forgive me. Good-by, 
sir.” 

He scarcely heard her, for he continued his 
denunciations of people and things in general, 
hardly noticing when she left his presence. 



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THE UNWEECOME LEGACY. 183 

Excited and trembling, Miss Rotbmann hast- 
ened away, longing with all her heart for the pri- 
vacy of her own room where she could give free 
vent to her disturbed feelings. 

Her thoughtful escort was at her side before 
she had gone many steps from Mr. Nathan’s door. 

“Oh, Mr. Youngs, why did I ever come? It 
is terrible, too terrible! and yet — ” she added, 
with a quivering little laugh, “it is absurd as 
well!” 

He saw that she was very much unnerved and 
forbore to. ask any questions, but walked rapidly 
with her away from the neighborhood. When 
she was calmer she asked Mr. Youngs if he had 
known why Becca’s grandfather had wanted her; 
and when he replied in the negative she gave him 
a short account of what had passed between her 
and the old Hebrew. 

Mr. Youngs was greatly astonished. He had 
known that Jacob Nathan, by common report, was 
a “miser,” but that he had hoarded sufficient to 
make the leaving of it a matter of such interest to 
him seemed very strange. 

“ And he killed that delicate girl, making her 
work to add to his greedy hoard!” exclaimed the 
clergyman with a voice full of indignation. “ Oh, 
no wonder! no wonder that — ” then he stopped, 
suddenly remembering who walked by his side, 


184 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

remembering also how often he had reproved oth- 
ers for that very same wholesale denunciation of 
a class or a people because there were evil ones in 
the midst. A flush passed over his face and he 
looked down at the young lady to see if she had 
noticed his hasty insinuation. He could not tell. 
He saw only that she still looked disturbed and 
weary. 

‘‘My life seems full of unrest,” she said, when 
they had spoken of little Becca and their joy that 
she was at peace for ever, away from all unholy 
influences and all the toil and strife of life. 

They were about to separate. She had not 
seen the minister since her brother had spoken to 
him and she did not know whether he was aware 
of that heavy anxiety which weighed upon her 
heart so constantly from the knowledge that her 
mother must be told of her conversion to Chris- 
tianity. Yet, even vaguely as he knew of her 
troubles, his large sympathy was comforting and 
pleasant and she felt a strong desire to confide in 
him. 

“Your task to-day has been a very trying one. 
I regret it very much. But you must put away, 
if you can, all thought of this peculiar old man 
and his notions and try to rest. When do you go 
away for the summer?” 

“ Very soon, I suppose. But I do n’t look for- 


THE UNWKECOMK LEGACY. 185 

ward to it with any great pleasure. I would ra- 
ther be here in the great city — one of a crowd!” 

She smiled and tried to appear gay. But he 
understood very well what the trouble was. This 
girl could not go where other girls, whose beauty 
and refinement were not superior to hers, were 
welcomed. At many a fashionable resort she 
must see the warning sign, “No Jews admitted.” 
This was why the crowded city, where she was 
only one of a great mixed multitude, was pleas- 
anter to her. 

He felt sorry for her; and yet, was not this, 
after all, her people’s cross? Could they murmur 
at the cross — they whose fathers had given the 
world’s Saviour his heavy cross, and who, with 
few exceptions, continued in their fathers’ unbe- 
lief? 

He longed to speak to Miss Rothman n of this, 
but hesitated, wondering if he might suggest the 
thought. 

“ Miss Rothmann,” at last he ventured, “you 
know this is a cross-bearing world; each person, 
each family, even each race, may have its own 
special cross to bear for His sake who once died 
for all. Yet we may be cheerful burden-carriers, 
smiling so that none shall know the weight of our 
load except that One who waits with our crowns 
in his hand.” 


1 86 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

Gradually, as he spoke, a light had grown in 
her face. She seemed to see it all, suddenly, as 
it had not appeared to her before. Yes: she must 
bear the cross, perhaps as long as she lived, for 
the sin of her race. In her dark eyes a new and 
Wondrous shining appeared as she looked up at 
Mr. Youngs, saying simply, “Thank you. I will 
remember. ’ ’ 


PLANS FOR THE SUMMER. 


187 


XXII. 

plans for the summer. 

Mrs. Rothmann saw that her daughter was 
restless and preoccupied and feared she was not 
well. She therefore hastened their preparations 
for leaving the city; and Sara said to her brother, 
“When we are alone in the quiet country we will 
tell mother.” 

He smiled and acquiesced. But he knew very 
well that his mother did not like the quiet coun- 
try; that she made their cottage as bright and gay 
as possible; that people of fashion in their own re- 
ligious circle were constantly coming and going, 
making things lively and compensating, as far as 
might be, for that denial to them of certain hotel 
parlors and piazzas. 

The beach was free to all ; no one could say to 
them, “You shall not walk here,” and a very 
pretty bit of beach, too, was that in front of the 
Rothmann cottage. 

Deane had set his heart on asking some friends 
down this year, one or two congenial friends, to 
offset the crowd that his mother, in her eager 
hospitality, would keep about them. 


l88 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

So before they went he said to her, “Mother, 
I want to ask you if you will please not give out 
any invitations for the month of August. That 
is my vacation-time, and I want to ask one or two 
of my special friends whom Sara also likes. I 
think it will make it pleasant for her as well as 
for me if you do n’t have many others there at the 
same time.” 

“Very well, my son. I will make a note of 
that. It is my sincere wish to have you and your 
sister enjoy the summer, and I will arrange my 
plans to suit you very gladly. I only hope that 
Sara may rouse herself and be better and brighter 
when we get away from the city. If you have 
any friends, any young people whom she likes, 
I do hope they will come and help to enliven 
her.” 

‘ ‘ I dare say she will be all right by-and-by, 
mother,” he said cheerfully; “but you must try 
to bear in mind, my mother, that we, your chil- 
dren, are not really children any longer; that we 
are man and woman, each with plans and hopes 
and aims for his and her future life; and you will 
have to bear with us and be a very patient mother, 
as we slip away gradually from the old, accus- 
tomed, childish w^ays and thoughts. That is one 
of the hard things which I suppose all mothers 
have to bear.” 


PLANS FOR THE SUMMER. 189 

He Spoke very tenderly and courteously, bend- 
ing over his mother’s chair and half wishing that 
he might make full disclosure then and there. 

But the time was not ripe yet. This was only 
a sort of “ paving the way,” a little breath of prep- 
aration which should move the mother-heart, stir 
it, and arouse it so that it might not be too sorely 
troubled when the full acknowledgment should 
be made of the children’s passage from the shad- 
ows and figures of the Jewish religion to the full 
light and substance of the truth as revealed in 
Jesus. 

Mrs. Rothmann looked up at her son some- 
what puzzled. Behind his smile and playful ten- 
derness she detected some deeper feeling. What 
could it be? 

“But, Deane, I don’t see why you should 
either of you change especially in anything until 
you marry; then I shall make up my mind to 
have you different.” 

“Well, never mind, mother; it’s all right. I 
only wanted to suggest that your boy and girl 
wont be boy and girl for ever. They are gaining 
knowledge of things and people more and more 
everyday. No one stands .still.” 

What a bungler he felt himself! He went 
away quite dissatisfied with the result of his ex- 
periment 


IQO ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

But he consoled himself by asking Roger Dun- 
ham to visit them during August at their seaside 
cottage. 

That young man expressed great pleasure at 
the invitation and was quite willing to accept it. 
There was only one drawback. “But, Roth- 
mann, I am afraid your sister will not approve. I 
do not think Miss Rothmann quite likes me. 
Why don’t you ask Dana Youngs instead? Ex- 
cuse me; really I did not mean to dictate to you; 
but Dana is such a splendid fellow, and — ” 

He stopped abruptly. He had suggested suf- 
ficiently, and he felt that Dana would not thank 
him for presenting his need of rest and sea air to 
any one. He might himself get his friend off for 
a day’s fishing or something of that sort; but to 
thrust him upon other people was quite another 
thing. If Dana really liked Miss Rothmann (and 
of that Roger had not a doubt) and she returned 
his liking, they could manage their own affairs 
probably better than he could manage for them. 

‘ ‘ Thank you for the suggestion. I am much 
attached to Mr. Youngs myself, and we should be 
glad and proud to entertain him if he would ac- 
cept an invitation. I shall see him before we go, 
at any rate; and if it seems the right thing to do 
I will ask him.” 

Deane was disposed to think differently from 


PI.ANS FOR THE SUMMER. 19I 

Ills sister, and to wish that they might be baptised 
into the Christian faith at Mr. Youngs’ church 
quietly before they left the city. He thought 
their mother would oppose any such action to 
such a degree that they would be at least ham- 
pered and made unhappy, if not wholly hindered. 
If the thing were done and could not be revoked, 
then it would be easier to tell her of it. “And 
we can wait until we are settled at the seashore 
before telling her, if that seems best,” he said to 
. Sara. 

She finally carried the matter to Rabbi Isaacs; 
a very strange thing to do, it would seem. But 
Sara Rothmann had great faith in this man’s 
judgment; he had always been her counsellor, and 
she knew hini to be above prejudice, above any 
petty spite or selfishness. He would look at the 
matter calmly, without passion, and advise her to 
the best of his ability. 

He received them cordially, for they went to- 
gether, Deane and his sister. But there was a 
sadness in his manner which showed how deeply 
he felt the loss of these two of his “children,” as 
he termed them. He listened patiently to all 
they had to tell liim, understood all their hopes 
and fears, appreciated the delicacy of their posi- 
tion, and proved himself a thoroughly unselfish 
friend. 


192 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

He favored Deane’s plan of taking tlie great 
step before they left the city. 

“If it must be, my children, spare your poor 
mother any looking forward to it, any opportu- 
nity for hope that it may be averted. Have no 
struggles that can be avoided, no more trying 
scenes and conversations than are absolutely ne- 
cessary. It will be hard enough for your mother 
to hear of tliis thing after you have done it; how 
hard you can never know.” 

And so it was settled. The friend and guide 
of all their lives had proved true to them in this 
emergency, strange as it may seem. He had his 
own hard duties to perform in relation to them, 
and in those he would not falter. But he would 
be a friend to them through it all. 

Perhaps Sara Rothmann would not have ven- 
tured to go to Dr. Isaacs at this time had she 
not overheard that fervent ejaculation of his at 
her former visit, “Would to God that I could see 
as she sees!” This said so much to her awa- 
kened soul that she took courage and went to 
him a second time. And not only this, but she 
daily prayed for him, that the truth as God sent 
it might show clear to his mind. 

She did not speak of what she had overheard 
even to Deane. She never knew exactly whether 
the rabbi had intended her to hear it, or whether. 


PLANS FOR THE SUMMER. 


193 

in a moment of agitation, he had spoken without 
realizing just what he said. It was something to 
give her hope and courage, but it was not any- 
thing to be repeated to others. 

The rabbi spoke honestly and well of Mr. 
Youngs. He said he had met him at the time of 
little Becca Nathan’s sickness, and found him a 
thoroughly good and earnest man. 

“If I should — if I could — send you to any 
Christian minister,” he said, “this one would be 
my choice. But oh, my children, think well, 
think carefully, both of you, before you enter upon 
this thing which now seems to be attracting you 
and calling you to leave the old paths. Have 
nothing to reproach yourselves with in the time 
to come. I have said much to you already, I 
know; but bear with me for the affection I have 
for you.” 

Tears were in his eyes as he spoke thus. And 
as they thanked him warmly and promised to do 
as he advised, there was a certain calm confidence 
in their manner and tone, an assurance that hence- 
forth all was well for them, that none of life’s 
changes could work any ill to them or shake the 
eternal Rock of their refuge and foundation. He 
almost envied them as he looked into their stead- 
fast faces, set towards the fulfilment of their great 
purpose and lighted by that strange, new light. 

13 


Bogrer Dunham’s Choice. 


194 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


“I will call and see your mother before you 
leave the city,” he said. 

And they were very glad that their mother 
had yet, whatever disappointments or troubles 
might vex her in the future, this strong, honest 
man as friend and counsellor. 

They settled it all that night. Deane went to 
see Mr. Youngs and learn when the Dord’s Sup- 
per was next to be celebrated in his church. The 
clergyman was very sorry that the reception of 
the brother and sister into the Christian church 
was to take place without the mother’s knowl- 
edge. He would have preferred, had they asked 
him, to go and tell her himself. Yet he would 
not thrust his opinion upon them, and he could 
only pray and trust that all might be well. 

The service was to be on the next Sunday 
morning, their last Sunday in the city. 

“And then,” said Deane, “ I will take mother 
and Sara to Cedar Point and see them settled for 
the summer; and if you are here I shall have the 
pleasure of attending your church until the time 
for my vacation.” He glanced at the young cler- 
gyman and saw a flush, as of some surprise, upon 
his face. 

“ Did you say you were going to Cedar Point?” 
he asked, and Deane thought he seemed unusu- 
ally eager over so slight a question. 


PLANS FOR THE SUMMER. I95 

“Yes; we have a cottage there — Cedar Point, 
Kxeter Beach. Do you know the place ?’ ’ 

“Yes; that is, I have friends near there, and — 
well, perhaps we may meet then during your va- 
cation. ’ ’ 

Then he went back to the other topic and 
made his final arrangements. But Deane could 
not forget his sudden interest and the brightening 
of his face, and he wondered what it meant. 


196 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


XXIII. 

A DIVIDED HOUSEHOLD. 

“ Oh, no, Dana. I really think I ’d better not 
be there. It is such a very peculiar time that 
strangers will certainly be quite unwelcome.” 

“But, Roger, you are not a ‘stranger,’ and I 
know you would like to be present. Why, aren’t 
you and young Rothmann very good friends?” 

“Oh, yes; and I like Rothmann very much. 
He is a first-rate fellow. Still I don’t think I 
shall come on Sunday morning. I wish — well, 
good-by, Dana. Det me know whenever there 
is anything you want.” 

This rather indefinite phrase meant anything 
to help in his friend’s work among the poor and 
suffering, which work was on the increase as the 
warm days came, and many little ones were 
stricken and lay panting for a breath of pure, 
sweet air. 

Roger Dunham’s life was becoming a conse- 
crated one, though he did not fully realize it, as 
freely, gladly, without ostentation and simply as 
a loving duty, he gave of his money to help in the 
great work of uplifting and comfort. Sometimes 
he would wonder how it was that he had lived so 


A DIVIDED HOUSEHOED. 197 

long with no thought for any one but self and no 
care for the great mass of suffering, toiling bro- 
therhood that stood so near. 

There was a flaw in Roger Dunham’s happi- 
ness which to many young men would have 
spoiled all. But even as he walked with this 
shadow flitting always across his sunshine he was 
happier than he remembered ever to have been 
since he left boyhood behind him. 

The clergyman wondered why it was that his 
friend would not make one of the congregation on 
Sunday morning. He was right in thinking that 
Roger would like to be there, and also in sup- 
posing that Miss Rothmann set some value on 
Roger’s presence and opinion. Yet he knew that 
of late she had avoided him altogether. And so 
perhaps his friend was right, after all, and it was 
better that he should not be there to see those two 
make public confession of their faith in Christ. 

The Sunday morning dawned fair and beauti- 
ful. Oh, the blessed Sundays which bring peace 
and quiet even to our great busy cities! All that 
man’s wickedness can plan cannot wholly mar 
the beauty of this rest-time that God has given. 

In this part of the city there were those who, 
as far as the easy “law” allowed, would pursue 
their daily labor of barter and gain. There were 
Jews (and many others who would have scorned 


198 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

to be called by that name) who made the day one 
of riotous gathering and pleasure; yet, in spite of 
all this, the radiance and balm of God’s holy day 
were not entirely lost. There was still a differ- 
ence in the atmosphere, a breath of hallowing in- 
fluence from the divine Spirit. 

Mr. Youngs had done much for that neighbor- 
hood. On Sunday morning many a little one 
now sought his or her “Sunday clothes” and 
prepared to go to Sunday-school with a care and 
an eagerness which proved how pleasant and good 
was the influence of that same Sunday-school. 

Many a child coaxed the slothful parents into 
getting ready for church “because Mr. Youngs 
likes to have you go, and it’s so nice and cool in 
there.” 

Yes, and that great organ too helped nobly in 
the work of bringing the people to God’s house. 
Even that was something, the mere going there, 
for good waited there even for the most thought- 
less comer. 

And so they went, from one dark home and 
another, young and old, through the sweet, soft 
sunshine of early summer, to the pleasant church, 
where the music would be a treat and where the 
young minister would be sure to see each one and 
to say the very word of help and encouragement 
which each needed. 


A DIVIDED HOUSEHOED. 


199 

Deane Rothmann and his sister walked quietly 
together to the church. They did not speak 
much ; their hearts were too full. There was no 
doubt, no hesitation, no thought but that what 
they were doing was just right. Yet “Mother, 
mother !” was ever the secret cry of each heart. 

Man as he was, even Deane felt the old yearn- 
ing come over him which he had known in his 
childish days — the longing to go and “tell mo- 
ther.” In those childish troubles the telling had 
ever brought comfort and forgiveness. What 
would it bring now ? 

The step which the brother and sister were 
about to take may seem a small thing to those 
who stand safe and happy on the accustomed 
ground of that faith in which their childhood 
grew and found blessing. But those who thus 
judge do not realize how strong is the tie which 
binds these Jews to their creed. The Old Tes- 
tament is in great measure their family history, 
the chronicle of the sayings and doings, the lives 
and ways, of their forefathers, God’s mercy to 
them and his commands for them and their little 
ones; and to the Old Testament, as the patent of 
their nobility as the ancient people of God, the 
warrant for their separateness from the nations, 
and the pledge of future national exaltation, they 
cling with passionate and exclusive devotion. 


200 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE, 

Messianic prophecy has, according to them, not 
yet been fulfilled, and they still look to the future 
for the coming of the King of Israel to lift their 
race to glory and blessedness. I speak, of course, 
of the true Hebrews, those who have kept to their 
religion uncorrupted by the ‘ ‘ free thinking ’ ’ and 
loose living of this age and this free land of ours. 

The Rothmanns were of this class. Sacred 
and beautiful to the children, as first related by 
their mother and then read by themselves, were 
those records of God’s chosen people. Many a 
time had Deane and his sister listened with keen- 
est interest to the recital of some of the wondrous 
events in Old Testament history. Many a time 
had the blood mounted to the lad’s cheeks for 
shame at his people’s ingratitude and unfaithful- 
ness to their God or for pride and enthusiasm at 
their obedience and victory. Many a time had 
little Sara, a dainty, old-fashioned maiden, clasped 
her hands and resolved to be as brave, as good, as 
true, as Deborah or as Jephthah’s daughter, whose 
sad story she never wearied of hearing. 

Interwoven with all these things were their 
mother’s love and teaching; the thought of her 
touched each memory and mingled with each tale 
of long ago. Judge, then, how the thought of 
that mother followed them on this Sunday morn- 
ing as they went to confess, in substance, that as 


A DIVIDED HOUSEHOLD. 201 

true Israelites they had heard and obeyed the 
voice that had bidden them “Go forward !” from 
the school of Moses and the prophets to the fol- 
lowing of Him who came “to fulfil the law and 
the prophets,” “Him of whom Moses in the law 
and the prophets did write. ’ ’ 

Little did that Jewish mother, in the quiet rou- 
tine of her home duties and her kindly, if some- 
what ostentatious, charities, dream of what was 
going on in one Christian church that morning. 

It was a simple service, but how full of mean- 
ing to those young hearts and how impressive 
and solemn to many of the lookers-on! It seemed 
to Sara Rothmann and her brother as if they 
knew that One stood there by them as they vowed 
to serve him evermore. His invisible presence 
to their quickened spiritual sense so thrilled and 
filled the place. They could almost feel the touch 
of his hand in blessing as the name of Father, 
Son, and Holy Spirit was put upon them. 

There were tears in many eyes as the minister 
uttered with such depth of feeling his few appeal- 
ing words. Here certainly was something which 
moved him greatly; all could see that, though not 
all knew or guessed the particular reason. His 
fervent cry to the Good Shepherd for all the “lost 
sheep,” that they might be gathered into the safe 
flock, called in from the desert places, the unsatis- 


202 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

fying pastures of the world, thrilled many souls 
pVesent who had no knowledge or special thought 
of the two young Jews. 

Peace settled upon Sara Rothmann’s spirit as 
the simple service concluded and she felt herself 
numbered among the people of Christ. A calm 
trust, a deep joy, pervaded her soul, and she knew 
now that God had blessed her with his light and 
his truth. 

Many of the Psalmist’s words of rejoicing and 
thanksgiving filled her heart with a meaning they 
had never had before: “ He leadeth me beside the 
still waters. He restoreth my soul.” “ Bless the 
Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits; 
who forgiveth all thine iniquities; who healeth all 
thy diseases; who redeemeth thy life from destruc- 
tion; who crowneth thee with loving-kindness 
and tender mercies; who satisfieth thy mouth with 
good things, so that thy youth is renewed like the 
eagle’s.” “He shall deliver the needy when he 
crieth; the poor also, and him that hath no help- 
er. .. . His name shall endure for ever; his name 
shall be continued as long as the sun; and men 
shall be blessed in him; all nations shall call him 
blessed.” 

Dearer now than ever before, because she so 
fully understood their prophetic undertone, would 
be the songs of Israel’s sweet singer. Was she \o 


A DIVIDED HOUSEHOLD. 


203 


forget that she was a Jewess? No; rather was 
she to lift up her head and be very humbly glad 
to remember her nation, that people with whom 
Jehovah had dealt so wondrously, that kindred of 
whom the Messiah had come and among whom 
he had dwelt with such untiring devotion. Yes, 
she could even rejoice and give thanks that the 
Lord had given her place and part in this nation. 
What now might she not be allowed to do for her 
people, she who had found the truth as it is in 
Jesus and could bear it among them with all the 
special preference allowed to a Jew? 

As for Roger Dunham, he had not been able 
to resist the longing to look in upon the scene. 
He felt too great an interest in the chief actors in 
it to remain absent altogether. So he had gone 
quietly in after all the others were seated, and had 
taken his place at the lower end of the church 
near the door. Even, the clergyman did not see 
him, perhaps because he was too much absorbed 
in his own duties and thoughts. Certainly nei- 
ther Deane nor Sara Rothmann saw their friend, 
and highly as they esteemed him, no thought of 
him crossed their minds that morning after they 
had entered the church. So he looked and lis- 
tened with an interest unspeakable, and when the 
services were over went quietly away. 


204 


R0GE:R DUNHAM’S CHOICE). 


XXIV. 

AT A SEASIDE HOTEL. 

“Well, I’m thankful that you don’t admit 
Jews here. It would be a pity to spoil such a 
first-class hotel. ’ ’ 

“Ah, Jewish coin carries no weight here, sir,” 
replied the obsequious proprietor of the “Grand 
View House” to Mr. Brand, Sr., who stood enjoy- 
ing his first cigar upon the piazza, while delicious 
ocean breezes went sweeping by and the band be- 
gan ‘ ‘ tuning up. ’ ’ 

“Of course, sir, they will plant their cottages 
around us,” continued the pompous landlord; 
‘ ‘ but we have been very fortunate in keeping even 
these at some distance from our house. The near- 
est one is full two miles to the westward of us; 
and for Jews Mrs. Rothmann and her folks are 
really quiet and decent; so — ” 

“Who do you say?” cried the gentleman, 
turning upon the loquacious proprietor of the 
“Grand View” almost savagely. 

“The Rothmanns, sir; only a widow with a 
son and daiighter. Rich, of course, as all Jews 
are, and owning a very pretty affair of a cottage. 


AT A SEASIDE HOTEL. 


205 


But I ’ll engage that they wont put in an appear- 
ance anywhere near us. I only wish I were as 
safe from the boarders at ‘Ocean Villa,’ here on 
the other side of us. Trust me, however, sir, you 
shall not have any annoyance in any way while 
you are here.” 

He bowed himself away as Elvina and her 
brother came out. 

Mr. Brand had to walk to the other end of the 
piazza to conceal the astonishment and mingling 
of other feelings which had been aroused in his 
mind by the landlord’s news. He was vexed, yet 
he could not refrain from a little smile at the 
thought of his daughter’s dismay when she also 
should discover the proximity of this girl of an 
alien race by whom nearly all the members of the 
Brand family felt themselves personally aggrieved, 
unreasonable though the sentiment was. 

“What a nuisance these Jews are !” he mut- 
tered. “That’s just their impertinent style — 
turning up at your very doorstep. ’ ’ 

He glanced towards his daughter, who was 
promenading with some of her fashionable ac- 
quaintances, and who evidently looked forward to 
having a very pleasant season there by the grand 
old sea, which has become so dear to ‘ ‘ society. ’ ’ 

He felt vexed that she should be annoyed in 
this way. He would have liked life’s wheels to 


2o6 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

move smoothly for this only daughter of his. Yet 
he had no sense of his or her utter dependence 
upon a higher than earthly power for all happi- 
ness. 

Theo had arrived also, and now walked 
away from the ladies towards where his father 
stood. Presently he heard a half-suppressed ex- 
clamation from his father. He looked at him 
curiously. In a few minutes it was repeated, and 
the son asked, ‘ ‘ What in the world is the mat- 
ter?” 

His father looked at him a moment, as if 
questioning whether or not he should tell him the 
cause of his vexation. Then he gave a short 
laugh and said, 

“Why, those people, Roger Dunham’s new 
friends, have a cottage here, close at hand, where 
they come to spend the summer.” 

“What! the Rothmanns?” 

“Exactly.” 

The older man’s vexation softened into a sort 
of grim enjoyment as he watched the look of as- 
tonishment grow in his son’s face. 

‘ ‘ How do you know ?’ ’ 

“Green had just told me as you came out. I 
was speaking of our freedom from Jews here, and 
he assured me I was right, and mentioned the fact 
that these people had a cottage there, but never 


AT A SEASIDE HOTEL. 207 

troubled any one. I did not say that I had heard 
of them, of course. But it is rather a joke.” 

“Well, I don’t feel quite so sure of that my- 
self. For pity’s sake don’t tell Elf yet.” 

“Don’t you be alarmed. I don’t want any 
scenes. I came here for a rest. ’ ’ 

“There is no doubt but that she ’ll find it out 
before the summer is over, if we stay here. But 
we had better keep it from her for a while. I 
wonder if they are here now.” 

“I didn’t ask. Your friend Dunham will 
probably know. I presume he will be with them 
himself.” 

“ I presume he will,” replied Theo. 

“What a fool Roger Dunham is!” exclaimed 
the old man hotly. 

But Theo was puzzled and walked off to con- 
sider what he had heard. Certainly Roger would 
visit there. He knew far more of Roger’s move- 
ments than his father or the others of the family 
knew. Roger himself had told him of the bap- 
tism of Rothmann and his sister and had seemed 
greatly impressed by it. Then that friend of 
Roger’s, the clergyman who had baptized them, 
was a sort of connecting link, and Theo could not 
see how it was all going to end. Rather, he could 
not bear to think how it was very possible it 
might end. 


2o8 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

He did not laugh and regard it as a “good 
joke” as his father had done. He was sorry: 
sorry for Klf, for he knew his sister was vexed at 
the turn which affairs had taken of late; sorry for 
Roger, for he felt that he was doing something 
which he was sure to regret and which, at any 
rate, would hurt him in the eyes of society; and 
sorry for himself because he saw so little of Roger 
now and the old friendship was not what it had 
been. This was not Roger’s fault, but simply the 
result of circumstances; Roger was as friendly 
and kind as of old, yet he saw very little of him. 

So the first evening at the “Grand View” was 
somewhat overshadowed to one of the little party, 
and in the midst of all the gayety and the charm- 
ing plans of the young folks Theo kept thinking 
ever of that cottage, “a mile or two ” distant, and 
imagining scenes which might be enacted there 
as the season went on. 

Then it was that Theo Brand did a rather 
strange thing for a young man of the present age 
and fashion. He sought his mother, while the 
rest were occupied with various fashionable pas- 
times, and told her what his father had told him. 
He felt as if he must speak to some one about it, 
and Mrs. Brand had earned, by her gentle, loving 
sympathy, that confidence which her son now 
gave her. 


AT A SEASIDE HOTEL. 


209 


It was a relief to Theo to speak of what was 
troubling him, and the words and counsel of Mrs. 
Brand were pleasant. She was as glad of an op- 
portunity to discuss the subject as he was, and 
they talked together until the entrance of the oth- 
ers warned them to separate if they wished to keep 
their own counsel. 

Theo wondered at his mother’s wise, calm way 
of looking at things and her thorough appreciation 
of all that he felt with regard to this matter. His 
heart warmed towards her as it had not done for 
years. He had lived an easy, care-free life, with 
no very serious questions to trouble him and few 
disappointments to fret him; things had gone 
smoothly for this favored young man of fortune. 
But now he was annoyed and perplexed and want- 
ed some one to talk the matter coolly over with. 
He had found that one in his own gentle mother. 
She spoke with a quiet assurance which seemed 
to shed light over all the perplexed situation and 
to show him just the way he desired to know. 


Roger Dunham’B Choice. 


14 


210 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


XXV. 

A PEEA FOR SHOP-GIRES. 

Mr. David Davids had a high-sounding 
name. He had also a fine residence to which he 
returned after the business of the day, and where 
he rested comfortably while his portly wife and 
gay daughters made things merry around him. 

It was here that Dana Youngs found him one 
evening of that early summer, not, however, wdth 
the accompaniments of the wife and daughters, 
for they had taken themselves off to the shores of 
old ocean and left the desolate mansion, with its 
white-robed furniture, to the “man of business” 
who “would be so silly as to stay there when 
there was not the slightest necessity for it.” 

“Ah, come in, come in, sir. Excuse the gen- 
eral appearance of things and my appearance in 
particular. That’s one thing I stay at home for, 
just to enjoy the luxury of not wearing a coat on 
a hot night and the liberty to put my tired feet 
into slippers. Sit here, Mr. Youngs, and I think 
you’ll find a little breeze. Well, you ministers 
keep at it, don’t you? Hot or cold, your work 
is pretty steady.” 


A PI.EA FOR SHOP-GIRFS. 21 1 

He rattled on in his easy, good-humored way, 
setting the young clergyman quite at his ease and 
making him feel that perhaps, after all, people 
did not speak the truth about this man. 

“Thank you, Mr. Davids. It is hardly the 
thing to call upon you when you are keeping at 
home on purpose to rest. But my business is 
urgent.” 

“Yes! oh, I daresay. You ministers always 
have urgent business which wont keep; but I’m 
ready for you, sir. What is it — a check or a 
petition to sign ?” 

He laughed at his own fun and leaned back in 
his luxurious chair looking keenly at the pale- 
faced young man who sat opposite. 

“A petition, sir. That is it, precisely.” He 
had given the clergyman the word, helped him 
to just the start which his modesty made difficult 
for him. “A petition, sir, that you will give the 
girls in your store a holiday to go with the other 
little ones of the neighborhood for a sail and a 
breath of fresh country air. We have planned 
this excursion by the aid of generous friends, and 
now all we want is the assurance that the young 
people may come to enjoy it.” 

“ Quite a modest demand, upon my word! All 
you want is a man’s whole working force! to 
shut up his establishment and give him a blank 


212 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

day! Oh, yes, my dear sir, your petition is very 
humble!” 

Mr. Youngs could not quite comprehend the 
spirit of the man as he spoke thus. Was he joking, 
or did he really feel that his business was being 
interfered with ? 

“ I noticed many of the little girls, and indeed 
the older ones, too, sir, in your store one warm 
day this week as I passed through the different 
departments, and it made me sad to see how pale 
and weary they looked. The hot weather must 
be very trying for them, and it seemed to me if 
we could only give them one good long day of 
rest and fresh air it would be doing a blessed work 
for which we should never have a regret. ’ ’ 

“You ministers are not much in the way of 
business men, are you, sir?” queried Mr. Davids 
with a quizzical look at his visitor. 

“Not very much, I grant you, Mr. Davids. 
But we claim that our work is for two worlds, for 
two lives, for time and eternity, while your busi- 
ness, which is often too engrossing, is only for the 
little space of this life and for this poor world. 
Pardon me, sir, if I speak too boldly,” he added 
as he saw a flush come to the face of this man of 
business. 

“All right, Mr. Youngs, all right. I like you 
none the less for your straightforward words. 


A plea for shop-girls. 213 

But I declare, a man has a good deal to put up 
with from you clergymen. Here it is only a few 
weeks since Dr. Isaacs came to me with his peti- 
tion : that I would allow my girls to sit down oc- 
casionally, forsooth! that their health demanded 
it, etc., etc., to any extent. Did ever any one 
hear the like? As if I could be bothered with 
looking after those girls! I have a good foreman, 
had him ten years, and I leave everything in his 
hands. But bless you, sir, you don’t go to him, 
not a bit of it. You must come to trouble the 
fountain-head, every one of you.” 

He heaved a great sigh and shook his head, as 
if he deemed himself a very ill-used man. 

‘‘I think you strike the key-note of all the 
trouble, Mr. Davids, when you say that you leave 
everything to your foreman. The cause of most 
of the wrong and misunderstanding between busi- 
ness men and their employes is the fact that they 
are not better acquainted with each other; that 
the master takes so little interest in his workmen 
or workwomen. He does not know anything 
about their homes, their families, their way of 
living, their needs, their temptations. If he did 
know, I assure you, sir, things would run more 
smoothly for both parties ; he would be better 
served and they would be happier and more con- 
tented. For I believe that employers are not the 


214 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

heartless creatures that they are often supposed to 
be. Their indifference, their want of sympathy, 
comes from their ignorance of circumstances. 
Excuse me, sir, I did not mean to preach.” 

“I don’t know about that. It’s your busi- 
ness, Mr. Youngs.” 

The clergyman began to despair of obtaining 
any serious answer to his request. This man ap- 
peared to be an inveterate joker. If he was as 
cheery as he seemed, then it was indeed a pity 
that he did not look into the lives and circum- 
stances of those whom he employed. For cer- 
tainly such a bright-natured man could have no 
wish to see his work-people worn out, overworked, 
sad-faced, or suffering. 

“But, upon my word, sir, you do preach so 
well, so boldly, that a man can’t help listening to 
you. And I suppose there would be no hope for 
one if he should refuse to accede to your proposi- 
tion ?” 

“Well, I should be very sorry and greatly 
disappointed in Mr. Davids if he should refuse 
what I ask of him.” 

The renowned David Davids stretched out his 
limbs, leaned back his head upon the soft cushion 
of his great chair, and asked the minister to 
“state his proposition.” 

Mr. Youngs did this clearly in a few words. 


A PLEA FOR SHOP-GIRLS. 


215 


He proposed to exert himself and to stir up his 
benevolent friends in such a manner that all the 
] 30 or in the vicinity of his church might be ben- 
efited by a day or two of rest and enjoyment, an 
opportunity to breathe pure air and to see God’s 
fair trees and flowers. If the employers would join 
hands with him in this work, he felt that many 
young hearts might be made happier during the 
long season of heat in the crowded city. 

When actually brought to the point of speak- 
ing seriously, Mr. Davids agreed with the clergy- 
man in all his plans and wishes and seemed not 
averse to cooperate with him in this matter. 

‘‘There’s no use in my denying that it’s a 
matter of dollars and cents to me, Mr. Youngs. 
But go on, go on. I give you my word that my 
people shall go, young and old, if you want them. 
And — if you need any more help, why, call on 
me, sir.” 

The clergyman thanked him warmly and told 
him that if he could know and see one-half of the 
pleasure he had given, he would feel amply re- 
paid for any sacrifice. 

The merchant would not let him go. He rang 
for a servant to bring some refreshment and told 
Mr. Youngs that he was lonely and would be glad 
of his company. By degrees he grew really seri- 
ous and his little jokes became fewer. Finally 


2i6 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

lie asked the minister plainly what he could do to 
know more about his employes, how it was pos- 
sible for him to become acquainted with their 
homes and their ways. 

Mr. Youngs answered him quite as plainly and 
proved by his answer how thoroughly he himself 
had visited the poorer classes and how familiar he 
had made himself with their mode of life, their 
needs, their desires, their sufferings, and their 
faults. Then he suggested to Mr. Davids that he 
should visit his store frequently, at the various 
hours of the day, and see for himself how his or- 
ders were carried out. The best of overseers or 
foremen, if left to their own devices, were apt to 
grow either neglectful or supercilious — careless of 
their employer’s wishes or else taking upon them- 
selves more power than he had given. 

He spoke of the tender age of the little “cash ” 
and errand girls and suggested that a harsh word 
or a law cruelly enforced might harden their 
hearts and turn the natural simplicity of child- 
hood into falsehood and duplicity; while a few 
earnings lost, perhaps through misfortune rather 
than fault (and few foremen would take the trou- 
ble to inquire into such things), might cause real 
want and suffering in the humble homes of the 
poor. 

Mr. Davids acknowledged frankly that he had 


A PLEA EOR SHOP-GIRLS. 217 

never given a thought to any of these things, 
any more than he had regarded the delicate 
frames of the young women whom he had kept, 
by his careless orders, standing at the counters 
all day. 

“I knew that it was a general rule and cus- 
tom,” he said. “I had no idea that any other 
way was practicable. But bless you, sir, I can’t 
see that it makes any difference to allow the girls 
to sit down now and then. I ’m very glad, upon 
my word, that Dr. Isaacs mentioned it to me. I 
don’t care to lead off in any great ‘reform’ move- 
ment, any camp-stool amendment, you know; but 
I’m certainly ready to do what’s right by the 
girls I employ. And I will do it too, sir.” 

He struck the table with his fist emphat- 
ically and looked as if he meant what he said. 
Then he made the final agreement with Mr. 
Youngs, threw in a few more small jokes, added 
a very generous check — with a little pomposity, 
to be sure, but one cannot have perfection — and 
shook hands cordially with his visitor. 

It was the happiest evening that Dana Youngs 
had passed in some time. It was a bright sur- 
prise, a cheering memory to look back upon, 
something which brought the smile to his lips 
and a light to his eyes for long afterwards. 

For David Davids it was an awakening which 


2i8 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

left him not altogether the same man. There 
were new lights shining across his life which, if 
he followed as they led, would change many 
things for the better. 

And he did follow. 

Tet us go and do likewise. 


TRUE CHRISTIAN FRIENDSHIP. 


219 


XXVI. 

TRUE CHRISTIAN FRIENDSHIP. 

“ So you are going to the seashore, Roger?” 

“Yes; Rothmanii is so urgent; and I really 
believe he wants me. Aunt is off, and I ’m lonely, 
and so — but why don’t you go, Dana? Roth- 
mann told me he asked you. And they would be 
so pleased. ’ ’ 

The clergyman smiled thoughtfully, while his 
friend watched him with that keen, searching 
look which told how he weighed every word and 
action. 

‘ ‘ Perhaps I may meet you there. It is quite 
likely. I sometimes run down to White Beach 
for a few days. I have friends there.” 

“You have?” Roger exclaimed with surprise. 
“And you really do run off somewhere occasion- 
ally? Well, I am delighted to hear it. Why, 
White Beach is only the next village; about three 
miles, isn’t it?” 

“Yes, I think so. And if I get down, I will 
send you word. Let me have your address.” 

“Certainly. Well, this is good! I’m really 
glad. And of course you will come over to the 


220 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

Rothmanns\ By the way, Dana, I wonder if 
the mother knows yet? And where will they 
decide to attend church? I don’t like to ques- 
tion Rothmann.” 

“And I have not questioned him. I am anx- 
ious also to hear how the mother has borne it. I 
know how they both dreaded telling her. Poor 
mothers ! they have a hard lot in this life.” 

Roger Dunham thought to himself, if God had 
left him his mother it would have been the aim of 
his life to make her lot a happy and easy one. He 
sometimes wondered at men who appeared to be so 
indifferent to their mothers, to set so many other in- 
terests above theirs, while to him a mother seemed 
everything that was sacred and worthy of the high- 
est esteem. It was just this feeling in Roger Dun- 
ham’s heart which had made him always so gen- 
tle and respectful towards Mrs. Brand, who fully 
appreciated his kindness and had learned to love 
him as a son. 

Dana Youngs told his friend how well he had 
succeeded in his efforts for the young workers in 
Mr. Davids’ store and how liberal that gentleman 
had been. 

“ It only proves what I have often said, Dana: 
that, as a rule, the troubles of working-people 
come, not through the unkind ness or the mean- 
ness of their employers, but through their igno- 


TRUE CHRISTIAN FRIENDSHIP. 221 

ranee of affairs and the vast space which separates 
rich men’s lives and poor men’s lives in our free 
and democratic America.” 

“Yes, I believe you are right. And when one 
appeals to intelligence — which most employers 
have — the result is generally most satisfactory, as 
it has been in the case of Mr. Davids.” 

“And he is a Jew too,” said Roger sarcas- 
tically. “And people ask, ‘Can any good thing 
be done by a Jew?’ ” 

‘ ‘ Moreover, he is a man of whom people said 
hard things. One might have supposed that he 
was a hard-hearted, cruel employer; instead of 
which he was only, like many others, careless and 
indifferent in regard to the people whom he em- 
ployed. Speaking of Jews, do you know, Roger, 
that I have taken a strong liking to that Dr. 
Isaacs, the rabbi who went to see little Becca Na- 
than in the hospital? He seems to me a very 
noble man.” 

‘ ‘ I have heard Rothmann speak very highly 
of him. I think he has been an old friend of the 
family.” 

“Yes; Miss Rothmann told me herself that he 
had been her instructor for some years after the 
death of her father. They are very much at- 
tached to him. And the more I hear and see of 
his work among the people the more I find my 


222 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

esteem for him increasing. Oh, why will people 
let their prejudice so blind them to what is good 
and noble in others and hinder them from doing 
that good which the Master has set for them to 
do?” 

‘‘ I think I have never known of a prejudice 
so universal and so obstinate as this against the 
Jews. And, Dana, I must say that, so far as I 
can judge, the majority of nominal Christians are 
as bad as other people in this matter.” 

“ I fear your judgment is only too just, Roger. 
And it is that very unchristian feeling and con- 
duct which in great measure hinders the conver- 
sion of the Jews. If we could only make people 
realize this ! All that you and I can do is to let 
our own little light shine in its corner clear and 
steady. Perhaps some day we may know that it 
has guided and helped some other soul on the 
way. ’ ’ 

Roger grasped his friend’s hand in silence 
with deep feeling, and the two young men parted 
for a brief season. 

Roger was to go the next day to visit his friend 
Deane Rothmann at the seashore; and Mr. Youngs 
was making arrangements with a brother clergy- 
man by which he might leave his wearying city 
labor for a short time and get also a breath of 
ocean breezes. 


TRUE CHRISTIAN FRIENDSHIP. 223 

He smiled to himself as he thought how he 
should surprise his old friend when they next 
met. And as he went forth again to his labor (for 
it was always more labor from house to house than 
work with book and pen in his study) the thought 
of that coming rest and pleasure made him even 
more generous and kind in his ministry among 
the poor and wretched. 

And Roger Dunham went to his pleasure none 
the less happily because of the generous gift which 
he had left in the clergyman’s hand for the bene- 
fit of those who were needy and suffering. Roger 
did not give without some self-denial. He made 
his offerings from his owm daily funds, so that he 
need not rob the future of its purposes and plans, 
and thereby he found the true pleasure of giving 
that which cost him something. 

Perhaps Roger’s old associates thought he had 
become less “free” than had been his wont; per- 
haps his tailor’s bills were not so long nor his 
“suppers” so frequent; yet he carried a happier 
heart than ever before, and his best friends loved 
him none the less. 

And so it was that a very clear-eyed, bright- 
faced young man took train for the seashore the 
next morning to fulfil his promise to Deane Roth- 
mann. He honestly endeavored to put away from 
him any especial thought of Miss Rothmann, for 


224 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

he felt he had no right to think specially of her. 
He could not bring himself to speak openly upon 
this subject to his friend and rival. He was 
not one to joke on such a topic at any time. 
Neither he nor Dana Youngs belonged to that 
class of young men who bandy jesting words with 
regard to their lady acquaintances. Women to 
these young men were something to be held above 
the common daily talk and jest. There was a 
sacredness about the name which they would not 
allow themselves to soil with light words. 

And so it came to pass that neither quite knew 
the other’s mind on a certain subject; yet, through 
a little patience and all honor, this would come 
right in good time. 

And Roger Dunham went cheerily on his jour- 
ney, cherishing pleasant thoughts of what he 
would do for his friend, “dear old Dana,” if he 
should ever marry. 

By-and-by he took out his little time-table and 
made a discovery. Reading over the names of 
the small seaside towns which spring up in a 
night all along the ocean’s border, he came upon 
one which sounded familiar. 

“ Hamilton Beach!” Surely that was where 
the Brands always went. Yes, he was sure of it 
as he drew a handful of letters from his pocket 
and opened one to read the address within. There 


TRUE CHRISTIAN FRIENDSHIP. 225 

it was: “ Grand View House, Hamilton Beacli.” 
“And it is only the next town !” he said to him- 
self in surprise, ‘ ‘ Then I can run over and 
take a look at them all while I am down,” he 
planned, with his heart full of kind and pleasant 
thoughts of these people who had ever made him 
welcome at their home and whom he felt he had 
somewhat neglected of late. 

“Yes,” he concluded, “ it is a pleasant coin- 
cidence, and I know Theo will be glad to see me. 
If the old gentleman will only let my friends 
alone !” 

Then he wondered if they had not found out 
the Rothmann cottage in the next village. “ Ev- 
erybody knows every other person’s cottage at the 
seashore,” he mused. “I dare say they have 
talked it all over. ’ ’ 

He smiled rather sadly as he remembered Mr. 
Brand’s fierce remarks and his gentle wife’s at- 
tempts to smooth things over. Miss Elvina indeed 
would have felt herself not at all complimented 
had she known how very limited and unimport- 
ant were the thoughts which Roger gave to her 
during this period of musing. 

Presently, however, his musings were ended 
by the arrival of the train at Exeter Beach. And 
as he went forward he saw among those waiting 
outside his friend Deane Rothmann, sun-browned 

Koser Dunliam’a Choice. I ^ 


226 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

and handsome, with a look of eager greeting and 
a smile for his guest. 

‘ ‘ It was so good of you to come, Dunham. I 
assure you we shall all appreciate it.” 

“How is Miss Rothmann?” inquired Roger 
as they started on their few minutes’ walk from 
the station. 

“Quite well, thank you, Dunham. She has 
been planning with me some little excursions,- 
drives, etc., by which we hope to make your stay 
with us pleasant for you.” 

“It is very kind of Miss Rothmann. I feel 
very highly complimented. But, Rothmann, 
don’t get up anything out of your usual routine. 

I assure you I shall be much pleased and quite 
satisfied with just being with you in your happy 
home party. ’ ’ 

That it was not as happy a home party as he 
had always known it Roger discovered as soon as 
he was settled among them. Certainly there was 
one thing on which they all were agreed, and that 
was that they were glad to have Mr. Dunham 
with them, and that they would do everything in 
their power to show him this. But it needed no 
very keen-sighted person to discover that a shadow 
rested upon the household. 

Roger was almost startled when he first met 
Mrs. Rothmann to see what a change had come 


TRUE CHRISTIAN FRIENDSHIP. 227 

Upon her. She who had been the bright, ener- 
getic woman of society, full not only of plans for 
enjoying the good things that life offered, but 
also of all good works, ready to give active aid to 
any charity, ready with business tact and woman- 
ly skill for any emergency, cheerful and careful 
for all about her, was now a sad, quiet woman, 
one who seemed to have received a sudden shock 
from which she could not recover. Her very 
smile had lost its brightness; indeed, she rarely 
smiled at all. She appeared not to take any in- 
terest in what was going on. The gay world in 
which she had formerly mingled and enjoyed 
bearing her part had apparently lost its charm for 
her. 

She was gentle towards her children, but did 
not converse with them as of old, and all her old 
animation and readiness of speech were gone. An 
indescribable sadness wrapped her like a cloud. 

Roger Dunham had no need to ask why this 
change had come upon the Jewish lady. He 
knew that she had been told of the conversion of 
her children to Christianity, and that this grief, 
which seemed to be eating into her life, was the 
result. 


228 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


XXVII. 

AT THE ROTHMANN COTTAGE. 

Great was Elvina Brand’s surprise when she 
discovered that Roger Dunham was in the next 
village and whose guest he was. ^ 

When her brother Theo announced his inten- 
tion of riding over to see Roger she at first felt an- 
noyed, but upon second thought decided that if 
Theo was determined to be friendly she had better 
act in the same way. 

After thinking a few moments she asked, 
“When will you go over, Theo?” 

“ Probably to-morrow morning. Why?” 

“ Because I thought you might carry an invi- 
tation from me to Roger for our tableaux on 
Thursday evening. I dare say he will like to 
come. He used to enjoy such things, and the 
girls will be glad to have me ask him, I know.” 

“Yes; Roger always was in great demand 
among the girls,” answered Theo, smiling. “ All 
right. Get your invitation ready and I’ll carry 
it over.” 

In truth, Theodore Brand was glad of any act 
or word which would tend to bring back the old, 


AT THE ROTHMANN COTTAGE. 


229 

pleasant intimacy between his family and Roger 
Dunham. He had always liked Roger in spite of 
his somewhat “odd notions” and ways, and now, 
since his talk with his mother, he felt that a friend- 
ship of however long standing gives a person no 
right to openly criticise another’s actions or inten- 
tions. If Roger chose to be specially friendly 
with a Jewish family or even to marry into such 
a family, he had a perfect right to do so and it was 
foolish to quarrel with him for it. Theo Brand 
had learned much wisdom from one plain talk 
with a wise mother. He had less self-conceit than 
his sister. 

He had received a note from Roger telling him 
of his presence in the adjoining village and add- 
ing Deane Rothmann’s courteous invitation for 
Mr. Brand to call upon his friend at the cottage. 

‘ ‘ And I shall not show myself less courteous 
than a Jew,” he exclaimed, “by staying away.” 

So Elvina prepared her invitation with care. 
In truth, she would have been sorry for any one 
to know how long that little note of invitation oc- 
cupied her. She wrote and rewrote it, changing 
its tone from cordiality to formality and vice versa ^ 
and spoiling many pages of her pretty note paper 
before she satisfied her sense of propriety. 

Then she pleased herself with thinking that 
when Roger was once more in the midst of the 


230 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

gay life of the young folks at the hotel he would 
be himself again and forget any foolish fancy 
which had enticed him. 

Theo started early, tucking away the precious 
missive in his pocket amid many adjurations to 
“be careful and not crumple it or forget it.” 

‘ ‘ I shall not forget it, you may be sure, for I 
want Roger over here as much as you do, and I 
shall add my own urgent request to yours — proba- 
bly a more urgent one, for I am not modest. But 
as to crumpling it. Elf, I wont make any rash 
promise,” he added teasingly as he rode off on his 
prancing horse. 

Elvina smiled. She had no fear of his doing 
anything very bad. Theo had always been a very 
kind and indulgent brother to her, humoring her 
whims while he laughed at her, and always quite 
willing to help her weave any pretty allurements 
for the attracting of Roger Dunham into their 
home circle. 

It was a fine morning and Theo found his ride 
very enjoyable. All along the way were pretty 
villas and grand hotels, flashes of gay carriages 
and livery, and glimpses of bright faces and 
brighter costumes, children picturesque along the 
sands and older ones picturesque under many col- 
ored parasols or captivating sun-hats. 

It was a charming scene with a great deal of 


AT THE ROTHMANN COTTAGE. 23 1 

weak and foolish human nature in the midst of it, 
and some, also, of a higher and purer type. 

Theo found the Rothmann cottage by means 
of a few inquiries, and when he reached it he en- 
tered upon what seemed a scene of peaceful, rest- 
ful home-life in the midst of the bustle, confusion, 
and clash of “society.” 

Young Rothmann and his guest sat talking to- 
gether in the shade of the vine-covered porch, en- 
joying the morning breeze and discussing the 
morning papers which they had in their hands. 
There was no sign of the young lady’s presence, 
and Mr. Brand breathed more freely. 

“Good morning!” he called, drawing his 
horse up at the end of the piazza. 

“Halloa! here’s Theo! Dismount, old fellow. ” 

“Yes,” added Mr. Rothmann as he stepped 
forward after touching a bell. ‘ ‘ The boy will be 
right here to take your horse, Mr. Brand. ’ ’ 

The boy appeared as he spoke, and Theo 
jumped down and was received with much cordi- 
ality. 

“Why, Mr. Rothmann, you have a charming 
place here,” he said, looking around upon the 
carefully kept lawn and flower-beds and far out to 
the great ocean, where the white sails glittered in 
the morning sun. 

“Yes; we like it, and I may say it is pretty 


232 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

without any boasting, for it is my sister’s choice 
and her taste has planned and arranged all about 
it.” 

“ Exquisite, isn’t it?” exclaimed Roger with- 
out waiting for his friend to make a remark. ‘ ‘ I 
never saw such perfect harmony in everything.” 

“Yes, it is very lovely,” replied Mr. Brand, 
repressing a smile as he noticed Roger’s enthusi- 
asm. “Your sister must be quite an artist,” he 
added, turning to young Rothmann. 

Deane smiled as he said, “ She would scarcely 
acknowledge it herself, but we who are prejudiced 
in her favor consider her quite artistic in her 
tastes. She. is our home artist, at all events.” 

Then he changed the subject quickly as if he 
feared he had said too much. 

It did not take Theo Brand very long to find 
that he had come to an extremely hospitable and 
refined family. When he had enjoyed the ocean 
breeze and the fine view for a time a gentle voice 
called from the open door, 

“Bring your visitor into the house, Deane. 
We shall have luncheon directly.” 

At which Deane rose and courteously seconded 
his mother’s words. 

“ I will go in and give myself the pleasure of 
meeting your mother, Mr. Rothmann; but I must 
not intrude upon your luncheon hour.” 


AT THE ROTHMANN COTTAGE. 233 

He found, however, that intrusion was far 
from any one’s thought. They wanted him, they 
would regard it as a pleasure to have his company, 
and, withal, there was nothing like fawning, no 
sycophancy; he saw that clearly. 

These people could do very well without him, 
yet they were large-hearted and hospitable and 
therefore urged him to — rather took it as a mat- 
ter of course that he would — remain to the meal 
which was just being announced. Somehow, he 
felt much inclined to do so, though he wondered 
what his sister would think of him if she knew. 
Sitting at a Jewish family’s table, partaking of 
Jewish hospitality! Well, if Roger Dunham had 
been there a week and enjoyed it, certainly it was 
good enough for him ! 

Theo Brand was broadening in his ideas, you 

see. 

Mrs. Rothmann showed no peculiarity to Mr. 
Brand, because he had not known her previously. 
She was quiet, dignified, somewhat sad, he 
thought, but quite kind and watchful of every 
one’s comfort. 

As for the daughter, when she entered the 
room just as the luncheon was announced, Theo 
Brand’s memory went back to that night when 
he had first seen her at the Charity Fair. If she 
had looked beautiful then, certainly she was very 


234 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

lovely now, notwithstanding that pathetic curve 
of the sweet mouth and the sadness in her dark 
eyes. 

She greeted him with quiet, maidenly modesty 
mingled with a cordiality which was very pretty. 
Theodore Brand found himself greatly attracted 
towards this gentle, unassuming girl. He had 
seen much of young women in general, and he 
considered himself quite a correct judge of what a 
lady should be. There at the gay gathering-place 
of fashion and beauty he had met with many 
whom he had deemed attractive and worthy of re- 
gard. He could recall, as he mused, certain ways 
of certain fair ones which had marked them as 
“bright stars” among their young companions. 
But what was there about this Miss Rothmann 
which attracted so? He could not tell; she was 
so gentle, so quiet; she had none of that sparkle 
of speech or manner which others had. He looked 
and wondered and looked again; but he could not 
understand. 

He, however, no longer wondered why his 
friend Dunham liked to visit at the Rothmann 
home. It had been long since he had enjoyed so 
cheery and pleasant, yet so quiet, a meal. People 
in that little household seemed to live and act and 
think for others rather than for themselves; there- 
fore life there was very pleasant. Even with the 


AT THE ROTHMANN COTTAGE. 235 

heavy cloud which now hung about the loving 
family there was so much good-will and unself- 
ishness that Mr. Brand never suspected the pres- 
ence of that cloud. 

When the cheerful meal was over the young 
people returned to the parlor, where the long win- 
dows allowed the ocean breeze to enter, while 
they were sheltered from the rays of the warm 
sun. 

Miss Rothmann, being asked for music, sang 
for them ; then she occupied herself with some 
dainty work while they chatted. 

Suddenly Mr. Brand clapped his hand upon 
his breast-pocket and exclaimed, “There! I came 
near forgetting it, Roger, and Elf would never 
have forgiven me. A narrow escape, I assure 
you. She asked me to hand you this,” as he 
gave the invitation to Roger, “and I must add 
my entreaties to hers, for we want our share of 
you, old fellow.” 

Roger asked permission of his hostess and pro- 
ceeded to read the note. 

“Tableaux! Well, Miss Brand knows all 
about those things, as I can tell from experience,” 
he said pleasantly, still regarding the dainty sheet 
of paper. Then, after a pause, “What a very 
pretty device your sister has upon her stationery. 
She would not mind my showing it, Theo?” 


236 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

“Why, no, certainly not. I think it is rather 
pretty. She has used it only a short time. I 
don’t know where she got it.” 

“kook. Miss Rothmann. Isn’t it pretty?” 
asked Roger, rising and handing the note to the 
young lady, who unhesitatingly took it to look at 
the device at the top of the page. 

It was a hand scattering seed, and the motto 
‘ Respice Finem. ’ ’ 

“Yes, it is indeed both pretty and suggestive,” 
she answered. 

But why did she start so, as if in surprise? 
Why did the blood mount suddenly to her face 
and then retreat, leaving her quite pale? And why 
did her hand tremble so as she passed the note on 
to her brother? He was the only one who did 
not notice her agitation. The other gentlemen 
saw it plainly, though she made an effort to con- 
trol and hide it. Roger, with quick instinct, be- 
gan to talk, so as to draw Theo’s attention from 
her. He spoke of devices, of heraldry, etc. ; for, 
with that same strange instinct, he felt that it was 
not the device which had caused the agitation, 
but something else connected with the note. 

He managed to get Deane much interested in 
what he had to say of heraldry. Then he turned 
to Theo and questioned him about the proposed 
tableaux. So that there was no pause until Miss 


AT THE ROTHMANN COTTAGE. 237 

Rothmann rose and excused herself, saying, with 
her pleasant smile, that she would leave the gen- 
tlemen free to pursue their own amusements and 
hoped they would make themselves quite at home. 

Mr. Brand soon forgot the little scene, attrib- 
uting the young lady’s agitation to the recollec- 
tion that those of her nation were excluded from 
such entertainments at certain hotels. 

But Roger Dunham could not so easily forget 
the incident, trifling as it seemed. 


238 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


XXVIII. 

A MYSTERY EXPLAINED. 

Sara Rothmann went to her room, opened 
her writing-desk, and took out a small, folded bit 
of paper. She looked excited and disturbed. Her 
fingers trembled as she slowly unfolded it and 
gazed at the writing. 

Yes, it was certainly the same — just that pe- 
culiar curl of the R and the straight, somewhat 
angular D in Roger Dunham’s name, which she 
had somehow kept in her memory all this time 
and which seemed to strike out so boldly to her 
eyes in the note down stairs. 

She had not the most remote desire or inten- 
tion of looking at the words of that note of invi- 
tation. But the address was close beneath the 
device, and the letters stared at her, imprinting 
themselves upon her mind, while she handed the 
note back and spoke her words of admiration. 

She could not but feel that the mystery was 
solved at last. She recalled all the events of that 
evening at Mrs. Sheldon’s, and more especially 
the looks and actions of Miss Brand. 

The first great throb of indignation passed 


A MYSTERY EXPLAINED. 


239 


away. She began to think more calmly, to won- 
der why that young lady should have done this 
cruel thing; whether she really considered her a 
forward person, or whether — there she paused in 
consternation; that thought, that possibility, had 
been cast from her some time before. The Mr. 
Dunham who was her brother’s friend, and always 
courteous and kind to her mother and herself, 
could never have originated any such unjust, un- 
generous deed as that. So she had decided. 
Otherwise Roger Dunham had not visited the 
Rothmann cottage that summer. But now — now 
it was aroused again, all the old misery and pain! 
Was life never to be beautiful and easy to her? 
Was she always to suffer and sit in the shade ? 

Possibly. That dear Messiah, who had taken 
our nature upon him, might desire and ordain, in 
inscrutable wisdom and love, that some lives 
should be sorrowful, like his own; that some of 
his human creatures should sit in the shadow as 
he had. Then was it not an honor, a joy even, 
to be like him in his life? Should she — dare she — 
repine? No; she would only ask him to help her, 
to give her grace and strength sufficient for it all. 

She returned to her duties as hostess, perform- 
ing all with her accustomed grace and modesty. 
Yet all the while in her mind the question, “What 
shall I do about this thing?” awaited an answer. 


240 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

Strangely enough, she felt a longing to meet 
face to face the writer of both notes, and that too 
without any specially angry thought. Why had 
Miss Brand done this ? Could she not show her 
the perfect injustice of it ? For both their sakes 
this was desirable. Why should they not regard 
each other with truth and justice ? Neither could 
afford to be misunderstood. 

She rather Wondered at herself that her indig- 
nation was not more intense. Ought she not to 
share this story with some one else, who might 
perhaps lighten the burden somewhat ? No; she 
decided not. So far as she could discern, the mat- 
ter lay between two persons only. Miss Brand and 
Sara Rothmann. 

Theo Brand did not carry home with him any 
promise from his friend Dunham to attend the 
ladies’ tableaux. He urged, but Roger would 
only say, “I’ll think about it, Theo.” 

Evidently the young man whom society court- 
ed was well content with his entertainment in 
that quiet Hebrew household. 

His friend rode slowly homeward in the sunset 
light somewhat sad and puzzled. He was un- 
willing to lose Roger from his circle of friends, 
yet he saw no way of maintaining the old inti- 
macy upon the old terms. 

“Pshaw! Why will people live so at cross- 


A MYSTERY EXPLAINED. 


241 


purposes?” he exclaimed, snapping his riding- 
whip in vexation. 

Then, as he thought of the calm, pleasant 
household that he had left behind him, a feeline 
of peace settled over his perplexed mind. 

“I’ll do what seems right myself and let the 
world alone,” he at last concluded as he came in 
sight of the gay throng around the favorite 
“Grand View House.” 

Mr. Dunham was not slow to notice that his 
young hostess was more quiet and absorbed than 
usual. Had the visit of his friend anything to do 
with it? At any rate, Theo had not made an 
unfavorable impression upon the young lady, for 
she spoke kindly and pleasantly of him. She 
even asked Roger how long he had known Mr. 
Brand and if they had been at college together. 

But she went up stairs earlier than usual, and 
the young men consoled themselves by walking to 
the nearest hotel to look at the evening’s gayeties. 

Sara Rothmann spent the hours before mid- 
night in serious thought; and when she had de- 
termined upon a plan of action she lay down and 
slept peacefully as a care-free child. 

After breakfast the next morning she said, “ I 
shall probably take a longer drive than usual to- 
day and may not be back to lunch; so do not 
worry. ’ ’ 


Roger Dunham’s Choice. 


16 


242 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

“Very well, daughter,” was all the reply her 
mother gave. 

But Deane said, ‘ ‘ Do you prefer to go alone, 
or would you like to have me with you ?’ ’ 

“ Thank you, Deane. I think I will go alone, 
as I shall stop to make a call and may be de- 
tained. ’ ’ 

Deane thought she looked pale and somewhat 
disturbed, and he was sure she had eaten very lit- 
tle breakfast. As she went out to prepare for her 
drive he turned quickly with a brave determina- 
tion to ask his mother if she had noticed Sara’s 
looks. But the mother was already out of reach, 
secluded from the plans and pleasures of her chil- 
dren as well as from their anxieties and griefs. 

The morning was bright, and Sara Rothmann 
took courage and joy from the sweet bracing air 
as she rode on at the moderate pace which her dri- 
ver had learned that she liked. He did not like 
it; yet he had seldom to bear reproof, for he was 
devoted to his young mistress and took pride in 
serving her acceptably. 

“ I can see and hear and get the good of every- 
thing when I ride more slowly,” she used to say; 
“and, moreover, I avoid the danger of a col- 
lision.” 

This danger which she avoided had become an 
actuality for some one else on that bright morn- 


A MYSTERY EXPLAINED. 


243 


ing, and Miss Rothmann was on the spot in time 
to be of service to a much-frightened lady who 
had been driving alone. 

Her horse had been startled by some sudden 
noise, and, running furiously on, had caused the 
carriage to collide with another rapidly-driven 
vehicle coming around a turn in the road. 

The runaway horse had been caught just as 
Miss Rothmann drove quietly up, and her watch- 
ful eye instantly caught sight of the lady’s white 
and alarmed face. 

It was so early in the day that few of the regu- 
lar pleasure-seekers were out, and the lady seemed 
to feel more frightened from the fact that she saw 
no one whom she knew. How was she to get 
home, with her “village cart” broken and her 
horse still trembling with excitement? 

“Wont you ride with me?” asked a gentle 
voice. ‘ ‘ I have plenty of room and my driver is 
very careful,” with a smile for the man which 
made him proud. 

“Oh, thank you so much! I am so nervous I 
hardly know what to do. I think I will go right 
home and let my errand wait.” 

As she leaned back in the seat to which Miss 
Rothmann had assisted her she showed plainly by 
her pale face and trembling lips that she was un- 
fit for any ‘ ‘ errand. ’ ’ 


244 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

“ Where shall I drive you ?” asked Miss Roth- 
manii as she arranged the cushions for the lady’s 
comfort. 

“To the “Grand View,” if you will be so 
kind,” replied the lady, who began to recover 
somewhat and to look up at the friend who had 
come to her relief and who was doing all in such 
a quiet, soothing way. 

Something in the girl’s face seemed familiar 
to the lady as she became more relieved after her 
fright. Where had she seen it before ? 

They drove slowly. The horses stepped as if 
conscious of responsibility. 

“What a pleasure to ride so!” the stranger 
exclaimed. “We always fly so that it does me 
no good. That is one reason why I came out 
alone this morning. My daughter was so full of 
plans for the tableaux to-morrow night, and she 
wanted some silk and ribbons and other things 
from the village. I thought I could get them 
perfectly well, and I knew just how any of the 
men would drive. You see I am punished for my 
pride in thinking I could do it better than they.” 

She smiled and wondered at the sudden in- 
crease of color in the girl’s attractive face; for she 
was only a “girl ” apparently, just about the age 
of her own Elvina. 

It was the word “ tableaux” which had called 


A MYSTERY EXPLAINED. 245 

the color to Sara Rothmann’s cheek. She did 
not remember her companion’s face, but that one 
word had told the whole story. Still she main- 
tained her composure, concentrating her thoughts 
on the one object in view at that time, namely, 
to take this lady home safely. 

At the entrance to the hotel Mrs. Brand turned 
and said, ‘‘May I not know to whose kind care 
I am indebted for this safe and pleasant ride 
home?” 

Miss Rothmann handed her a card, saying, 
“Will you allow me to call to-morrow and ask 
how you are?” 

“Thank you, my dear. You are very kind. 
Here is my son. ’ ’ 

She would have said more, but she had al- 
ready stepped from the carriage, and with a bow 
and smile Miss Rothmann gave the word to her 
driver just as Theo Brand recognized who she 
was. 

“Such a sweet girl, Theo! Here, take the 
card and see who she is. Jupiter ran away with 
me, and I really don’t know what would have 
become of me if it had not been for — ” 

“‘Miss Sara Rothmann’!” added her son, 
reading from the card in his hand. 


246 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


XXIX. 

A VISITOR FROM WHITE BEACH. 

Roger did not care to accept his invitation to 
the “tableaux.” There would be nothing new 
in it all. He had spent many an evening in that 
way before and knew all about it. 

But he must have an excuse. 

It came quite unexpectedly. The next mail 
brought a letter from Mr. Youngs saying that he 
was at White Beach and would call at Mrs. Roth- 
mann’s in the morning to see his friends and to 
take Roger away with him. 

“Good!” cried Roger. And he sat down to 
write his “regret” immediately. After which 
he sought out Deane and his sister and announced 
very joyfully, “ Dana is coming 1” 

A glad light came into Miss Rothmann’s face 
as she said, “Mr. Youngs? Is he coming here? 
Isn’t that pleasant? Do you suppose we can 
keep him for a little while ? He needs the rest so 
much.” 

Then suddenly the brightness left her face and 
a look of great pain took its place. Deane saw it 
too. He put his arm about her tenderly. They 


A VISITOR FROM WHITE BEACH. 247 

both knew very well that their mother would con- 
sider it a direct insult to herself should any Chris- 
tian minister come at their invitation inside of her 
doors. There were times indeed when they al- 
most felt as if those doors were ready to close upon 
themselves, shutting them out from their home 
for ever, as they were already shut out from their 
mother’s room, her life, her plans — even, they 
sometimes thought, from her heart. 

“ Oh, Dana couldn’t stay, I think. Miss Roth- 
mann,” Dunham hastened to say in his easy way, 
which always smoothed rough places. “ He is to 
call and take me away to see his friends. I am 
so wickedly pleased at it, just because I do n’t feel 
equal to those tableaux at ‘Grand View’ to-night, 
and this gives me a plausible excuse.” 

“What! after all that pretty invitation with 
its meaning symbol ? Dunham, I ’m surprised.” 

Mrs. Rothmann was in her room, that room 
which had ever been a haven of peace and sun- 
shine to her children, but which was now closed 
to them, as heaven might be closed to those who 
had sinned against its sacred laws and rights. It 
was almost as if the home were home no longer. 

Deane especially felt as if he were an outcast 
and ought to go away and make a new beginning 
for himself — as if he had no right to his father’s 
fortune and place. He knew well how many Jew- 


248 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

isli parents would have acted under similar cir- 
cumstances. It was only the great tenderness of 
his mother’s heart, possibly the absence of a father 
from the head of the household and the loneliness 
of his sister that would follow the banishment of 
himself, which made the leniency in his case. 
But he felt that scarcely a greater punishment 
could have been theirs; and they both knew that 
when they returned to their city home among 
their relatives and friends it would be increased 
fourfold. How they shrank from it none could 
tell, except perhaps the mother, who knew her 
children’s natures so well. ‘‘Was she a cruel 
mother?” you ask. Not according to Jewish 
thought and rule. 

And certainly, could you have seen her as she 
sat shut up alone in her room, she who had been 
the gay leader in society, the bright and energetic 
woman, full of good works, and delighting in all 
cheerful associations, you would have felt that 
there the heaviest burden had fallen. 

Hour by hour she sat there with clasped hands 
and bowed head, tearless, hopeless, almost prayer- 
less. The pictured faces of her two children were 
turned to the wall. She and her husband hung 
there alone, and the sunlight touched them not. 

Sometimes the servants below would hear her 
steady pacing to and fro, her foot striking heavily 


A VISITOR FROM WHITE BEACH. 249 

Upon the soft carpet, all the spring gone from her 
step as the light had gone from her eye and the 
joy from her heart. They pitied her, those hum- 
ble people who had served her in the days of her 
prosperity and gladness, who loved too the young 
master and his sister with honest sincerity, and 
could scarcely think them capable of doing wrong, 
even while they were sorry in their simple way 
for the mother upon whom the sad blow had 
fallen. 

Mrs. Rothman neglected no household duty 
nor any hospitality towards those who came to 
the cottage. But there went forth no invitations 
as in former seasons; the house did not resound 
with laughter and happy voices day and night; 
there were no lawn parties, no bathing frolics, no 
drives or excursions planned by the active mother 
of the famil3^ 

Deane and Sara might ask whom they thought 
fit, and Roger Dunham’s invitation was of long 
standing. But they knew that to ask the clergy- 
man who had baptized them into his faith to be a 
guest in their mother’s house would be an insult 
which she could not overlook. Therefore they 
denied themselves this pleasure. It was only one 
of many deprivations which came to them daily 
and which they were praying for grace to bear 
patiently as became the followers of Christ. 


250 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

Dana arrived punctually and surprised all three 
of his friends by his bright and bronzed appear- 
ance. 

“Why, old fellow, where’s the tired, pale- 
faced city clergyman whom we expected to see, 
worn out by care and wearied with the total de- 
pravity of the human race?” 

Dana Youngs laughed with a gleeful ring in 
his voice which none but Roger ever had heard 
before, and he not since years ago in the old col- 
lege days. “Well, it doesn’t take many days 
down here to change a man’s color and his appe- 
tite too. You are looking wonderfully well your- 
self, Roger. I am sorry that I cannot say as much 
for Miss Rothmann and her brother. But how 
beautiful it is here !” 

“The shore is very fine all along this way,” 
said Rothmann. “Have you seen much of it, 
Mr. Youngs?” 

“Yes. I have driven along and walked too 
since I came down. I am spending a week or so 
with friends at White Beach. ’ ’ 

“Ah, yes. That is a famous resort, and a 
pretty spot too. ’ ’ 

“And, Roger, my horse is not tired; he does 
not need to rest; so we can go as soon as you are 
ready. ’ ’ 

“All right. I will go and prepare then.” . 


A VISITOR FROM WHITE BEACH. 25I 

Roger was a inucli longer time away tlian his 
preparations required. Thoughtful as ever, he 
considered that Deane and his sister might wish 
an opportunity of speaking freely to the clergy- 
man, who was now their spiritual guide, and of 
telling him about their mother. They certainly 
needed sympathy and counsel such as none could 
give as well as God’s ambassador. So Roger 
Dunham thought, and he was right. 

It did not need the clergyman’s quiet “Tell 
me all about yourselves, my dear friends, ” to draw 
from Sara and her brother the whole sad story. 

Mr. Youngs was scarcely surprised. His work 
had been largely among Jews, and he understood 
how terribly they punished any departure from 
their ranks. He had feared it for these two. He 
realized that sometimes strong love can be- more 
implacable than bitter hatred. He knew what a 
stern religion, so called, could make even mothers 
capable of, if their “gods” required it. Should a 
Hebrew parent be less true to her creed than the 
heathen to theirs ? Nay, though her own life 
went with it, yet would she cast aside that which 
she had borne and reared and cherished, to stand 
by her forefathers’ principles and their reading of 
the laws of the Lord. 

Yet his words of cheer and encouragement 
were very comforting to Deane and his sister. 


252 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

He reminded them gently that many noble souls 
had been “tried as by fire,” and had, through 
much tribulation, entered upon a glorious inherit- 
ance of peace. God, who appointed and watched 
over each test of their faith, would stand by them 
through whatever trials were yet to come. His 
strength and his grace would be sufficient for 
them. 

It was a happy, comforting half-hour; indeed, 
it was almost an hour before Roger made his ap- 
pearance, saying that he had stopped to write a 
letter and hoped he would be pardoned for his 
delay. He saw by the faces of his friends that 
the time had been of use and comfort to them. 

“I would like to say good-by to your mother,” 
he said to Miss Rothmann in a low tone. “Do 
you think I might?” 

“I think so, Mr. Dunham. Mother has a 
great regard for you. ’ ’ 

Then the quick color flushed her face as she 
looked at the minister. Had her mother no re- 
gard for him? No; there was a vast difference, 
to Mrs. Rothmann’s mind, between the Christian 
gentleman who had visited them as a friend, kind 
and thoughtful, never intruding his religion upon 
them, and that Christian clergyman who had 
robbed her of her son and daughter. 

“There is time enough, Roger, for anything 


A VISITOR FROM WHITE BEACH. 253 

you wish to do,” said Mr. Youngs quietly, with a 
reassuring smile at Miss Rothmann. 

So she went in with Roger to find her mother. 
She could not go to her room. She sent a servant 
with a message. And the Jewish mother came 
down to the parlor to say good-by to the young 
man who had managed to secure her good opin- 
ion. 

It made him sad to look into her changed face, 
with all its life and brilliancy gone. He was al- 
most tempted to plead with her for her children’s 
sake and her own. Yet he dared not. He could 
only bow his head in sorrowful respect over her 
hand as he took it in farewell. 

“We shall always be glad to see you, Mr. 
Dunham,” was all she said, and then she went 
quickly away again to her room. 

The two friends looked back again and again, 
as they drove off, to see Deane and Sara Rotli- 
mann standing there together. It was a sad 
sight. The burden had fallen heavily on their 
young hearts. But God would enable them to 
bear up under it. 


254 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


XXX. 

PREJUDICE RENOUNCED. 

“So you are going to follow in Roger Dun- 
ham’s footsteps and make yourself as absurd as 
he has!” 

“No; I am acting quite independently of 
Roger, of everybody. And I want you to do the 
same, to show the simple, ladylike gratitude which 
is proper under the circumstances. If Roger 
chooses to do a certain thing which neither you 
nor I approve, that is no reason for our neglecting 
a plain act of courtesy. ’ ’ 

They were strolling together along the shore, 
Blvina Brand and her brother. 

The girl was greatly vexed. Why was it that 
just this person, of all the visitors in the place, 
should have come to her mother’s aid? And 
why, since it had been so, could not Theo be sat- 
isfied with thanking her himself? Why should 
she be forced into company that was so distasteful 
to her? Her spirit rebelled. And yet her bro- 
ther had put the case in such a light that it was 
neither easy nor pleasant for her to refuse to do 
as he desired. 


prejudice renounced. 


255 


“My sister has always been considered a cour- 
teous lady,’’ he pleaded; “she has never done 
that which was rude or unkind.” 

The color came suddenly to her face at his 
words. Ah ! had she not done that which was 
“rude and unkind ” ? 

She sighed wearily. “Oh, well, Theo, I’ll 
go, as you wish it so much. Go on and order the 
carriage and I will get ready.” 

She paused in crossing to the promenade to 
speak to a friend, and her brother went on to give 
his orders. 

As Elvina was passing on a carriage stopped 
and a lady alighted near her, speaking her name 
in a low voice. 

“Is not this Miss Brand? And may I walk 
with you here a moment?” 

In speechless surprise Elvina moved on by the 
young lady’s side. The carriage followed slowly 
at a distance. 

The lady took from her card -case a small 
folded paper, opened it, and handing it to Miss 
Brand, said, “Will you tell me what caused you 
to write this?” 

Elvina’s fingers had scarcely closed upon the 
note before they thrilled at the recollection. She 
turned with a sudden movement of indignant 
pride; but something in the calm, sad face that 


256 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

met her gaze so unfalteringly hushed the words 
she would have spoken. She looked at the note 
again, as if she were endeavoring to understand it 
all. 

“ It has given me a great deal of pain, it is so 
unjust; and when I accidentally learned who had 
sent it to me I felt that I must come directly to 
you and ask you why you had done it.” 

Elvina Brand was utterly dumb with amaze- 
ment. Why did not the girl upbraid her, vent 
her long pent-up anger, say those harsh things 
which she had good cause to say ? Was this sor- 
rowful calmness, then, also a part of the national 
character or creed ? 

No; it was the result of that very Christianity 
which Elvina Brand professed to believe and 
which had yet many wondrous and lovely things 
to teach her. Her lessons were but beginning. 
And, strange as it may seem, God had sent this 
Jewish girl to show the beauty of that “mind 
which was also in Christ Jesus.” 

It was a strange hour that these two young 
women spent on the sands, while the tide of fash- 
ion and frivolity and gayety swept by and the 
grand, tireless sea rolled on, and God over all 
watched with infinite tenderness his children’s 
feeblest efforts after truth and right. 

Up at the bustling hotel Theodore Brand wait- 


PREJUDICE RENOUNCED. 257 

ed and watched and wondered. What could Elf 
be doing that she did not come down ? Had she 
meant to disappoint him, after all ? 

He inquired of the servants if they had seen 
Miss Brand, but he could find none who had. 

Presently he received a message from his mo- 
ther and went to her. She was nervous and felt 
unable to leave her room. She was anxious to 
know where her daughter was and if any one had 
called to inquire for her. 

Theo told her all he could and then returned 
to try and discover what had become of his sister. 

As he entered the parlor door she came in 
through the long window from the piazza. 

He looked at her in astonishment. “Why, 
where have you been ? I have been waiting near- 
ly an hour for you!’’ 

“I know. I met Miss Rothmann. She 
stopped me on my way here. So that is all set- 
tled without any further trouble, you see. I told 
her how mother was. I guess you had better tell 
Anthony to take out the horses; he stands there 
like a martyr. I am sorry to have kept you; but 
it wasn’t my fault.” 

Before the astonished brother could utter a 
word in reply Elvina had disappeared up the stair- 
way. She went to her room and sat there think- 
ing of it all in a sort of bewilderment. 

17 


Boger Dunliam’s Choice. 


258 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

Was it possible that she had done this thing; 
that she had lost much of her prejudice (at 
least for the time) in the sunlight of a true 
womanly presence, though it was the presence 
of a Jewess; that she had listened to and 
talked with ‘‘that Miss Rothmann” whose very 
name had been so repugnant to her; that she 
had found qualities worthy of admiration in this 
girl of whom she had thought so contemptuous- 
ly? 

Yes; this was all true, and more than this: 
there had been stirred in Elvina Brand’s heart a 
higher, purer feeling by this glimpse of the power 
of a real Christianity. The experience was in 
some sort a revelation to her. Yet she did not 
fully recognize it as such. She only felt moved 
and marvelled at it. 

It was one of those cases in which not every 
one would have recognized the right course of ac- 
tion or have been willing to pursue it, but in 
which that right course, when discerned and fol- 
lowed, works out wonderful things in God’s econ- 
omy. Miss Rothmann had seen what not all of 
us, whether Jew or Christian, would have had 
grace to see; and acting on her perception of what 
was right, she had turned the heart of an enemy if 
not directly towards herself, at least towards the 
way of truth and uprightness. She had simply 


PREJUDICE RENOUNCED. 


259 

done wliat she discerned as her duty, and behold, 
there was sown a little seed which would grow to 
become a blessing and a joy, making other lives 
fruitful and beautiful. 

“I asked Miss Rothmann to call and see you 
for herself,” said Elvina to her mother. 

There was that in her tone which forbade 
either jest or teasing on Theo’s part; and in truth 
he was little inclined for anything of the sort. 
His sister’s quiet independence of action both 
amazed and charmed him. But he did not know — 
only two people ever did know — how much had 
taken place between Miss Rothmann and Elvina, 
how much beyond anything that was ever ex- 
pressed in words. Miss Brand did not profess 
any direct conversion to any special theory in re- 
gard to that nation that she had always held 
in contempt; she did not proclaim or exhibit 
any sudden friendship for Miss Rothmann. In 
fact, out of regard for the older Mr. Brand, whose 
opinions were so outspoken and so strong, very 
little was said about the young lady who had so 
kindly brought Mrs. Brand home after her acci- 
dent. 

Yet those who best knew Elvina certainly saw 
a gradual quiet change in her whole bearing, evi- 
dence which proved that she was learning to un- 
derstand that great lesson of life: that all races 


26 o ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

and kindreds of the earth are brethren, and that a 
recognition of this, together with a Christian kind- 
ness of action to all, is required by our great E)x- 
emplar, whose words in return for the crowning 
act of Jewish scorn and hatred were, “Father, 
forgive them!” 


FOLLOWING THE LIGHT. 


261 


XXXI. 

FOLLOWING THE LIGHT. 

“Oh, Dana, what is to be the end of it all?” 
Roger exclaimed after he had given his friend the 
particulars of Mrs. Rothmann’s way of living. 

“It will all work together for good as far as 
Miss Rothmann and her brother are concerned. 
For that poor mother my heart aches. I feel far 
more pity than anger for her. ’ ’ 

By degrees, as they sped along in the glorious 
sunshine and breathed in the invigorating air, the 
gloom lifted from their spirits. Roger grew curi- 
ous regarding the clergyman’s friends, and Mr. 
Youngs laughingly told him he hoped he would 
like them. But he gave him no further informa- 
tion. 

It was a charming cottage to which the cler- 
gyman drove, saying, “ Here we are.” 

It was a charming gray-haired lady who rose 
from a chair on the long piaicza and told Roger he 
was “very welcome,” with a smile which went 
straight to his heart 

It was a still more charming lady who entered 
the parlor an hour later and was introduced to 


262 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

Roger as “ Miss Gregory.” She was enough like 
her mother for Roger to guess at the relationship 
before it was told him, and her youthful, bloom- 
ing face seemed to shed a glow of springtime all 
around. 

She stayed in the room long enough to make 
Roger sorry when she left them. Mr. Youngs 
smiled when his friend expressed some such 
thought, and then, looking directly into Roger’s 
face, he said in a tone full of rejoicing, 

“Roger, that lovely girl has been waiting for 
me a long time; and I hope, by God’s blessing, to 
make her my wife very soon.” 

Roger Dunham sprang to his feet and, in 
amazement, stood looking at the man who had 
spoken those tender words. 

“You are going to marry her?” he cried. 

‘ ‘ Ynd you have been engaged all this time ? 
You dear old deceiver!” 

He ended by wringing Mr. Youngs’ hand un- 
til it ached, laughing all the time, partly from a 
sense of sudden relief from a painful misunder- 
standing. 

“ Do you like it?” asked the clergyman when 
he had an opportunity. 

“Like it? Why, I’m as happy as if it were 
myself! Dana! Dana! you can keep a secret bet- 
ter than any man I ever knew. And she is so 


FOIvLOWING THE LIGHT. 263 

lovely and bright and young! Why, old fellow, 
she will make your life a blessed thing.” 

“I think she will, Roger. She has shown 
that she is willing to bear trial and hardship pa- 
tiently by keeping faith with me all this time, 
when I know that she might have married riches 
and a high position had she chosen. But she 
waited for me.” 

“And to think how you have been keeping 
all this happiness to yourself. I couldn’t have 
done it.” 

“It would not have been just right for me to 
speak of it while my own position and means 
were so uncertain. I always told Grace — Miss 
Gregory — to consider herself free should a change 
come to her feelings. It seemed hard to keep her 
waiting for a poor minister! I meant that you 
should know it first of all as soon as I felt that I 
could marry. Indeed, Roger, if you had not been 
sent to me, if you had not helped me so largely in 
my work among the poor and suffering, you gen- 
erous friend, my bank account would not even 
now admit of this happy change in my life.” 

And though Roger said, “Oh, no!” and, 
“Nonsense, Dana!” and much more to the same 
effect, his friend would grasp both his hands and 
thank him again and again. 

“I think, though, Dana, that I was ‘sent to 


264 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

you,’ as you say. My life was becoming a very 
selfish, useless thing, and had Providence not led 
me to you there on your noble height toiling so 
for others, I fear I should have been but a cum- 
berer of the ground. You have done far more for 
me, Dana, than I ever have done or can do for 
you.” 

Dana Youngs then told Roger a little about his 
friends. 

Mrs. Gregory was a widow whose fortune had 
been lost through unwise speculations, and after 
her husband’s death she was compelled to take 
boarders. The little cottage was filled with a se- 
lect company of those who had known the family 
in their “better days,” and Grace was the lead- 
ing spirit, the inspiration of all, whose hands 
wrought wonders everywhere, gifting with a cer- 
tain beauty the humblest arrangements, and whose 
word had a sort of magic influence over the some- 
times refractory servants. Neither the work nor 
the waiting had robbed her of her youthful fresh- 
ness or her blitheness of spirit. Her face — when 
Dana allowed himself to go and look upon it — was 
like sunshine to the hard-toiling minister, and her 
voice and presence were inspirations to nobler ef- 
forts for God and humanity. 

Apart from his own especial cause for rejoi- 
cing, Roger Dunham was most truly glad for his 


FOLLOWING THE LIGHT. 265 

friend. After all, here was what Dana most 
needed: that smooth and happy union agreeable 
to all parties, with no shadow to dim it. Yes, 
that was what the clergyman would have when 
he married Grace Gregory. And how his life 
would brighten under it; how his work would 
take color and gladness from the love of this help- 
meet who was coming to stand at his side; how 
the poor also would gain a new friend ! Yes, it 
was better that nothing which could prejudice in 
any way should enter into Dana’s life. He — 
Roger Dunham — could bear all that far better 
and with more impunity. 

He lay thinking of it all half that night; and 
the next morning he told his friend all the wish 
of his heart and talked it over with him. 

He received all the sympathy which he could 
have asked. 

“ But I fear, Roger, that you will not get Mrs. 
Rothmann’s consent. I doubt if she will listen 
to you for a moment.” 

“ I will go and try,” said Roger quietly, with 
firm determination in his voice and face. 

And he went. 

As he walked up to Deane, who was standing 
on the beach in front of the cottage, he said in a 
low, earnest tone, “Deane Rothmann, I have 
come back to ask for your sister.” 


266 . ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

“ My sister ! O Dunham !” It was a cry of 
pain, for there rushed over Deane Rothmann’s 
mind a thought of all the happiness that would 
come to his sister if this might be. And yet — 
could it be ? Ought it to be ? 

Roofcr told him how matters had stood for so 
long: that he had thought Mr. Youngs his rival, 
and therefore would not speak. But now that 
was all cleared away and he had come to ask Miss 
Rothmann. 

“Dunham, my friend, have you considered 
everything?’’ asked the young Jew, with an em- 
phasis in his tone which told clearly enough what 
he meant. 

“Yes, Rothmann, everything. Your sister 
has already made a better man of me, and I shall 
be very happy if I may have her always with me 
as my nearest and dearest earthly helper.” 

“Then, Dunham, go and ask her. And I 
hope, yes, I hope it may be as you wish.” 

Dunham grasped his hand and then hastened 
away to the cottage. He found Sara Rothmann 
alone in the parlor arranging dishes of flowers. 
She started, and the color rose to her face as she 
looked up and saw him. Was there to be still 
another burden laid upon her heart ? Some pro- 
phetic voice seemed to whisper. Yes. 

“ Miss Rothmann, I could not stay away from 


FOLLOWING THE LIGHT. 267 

you. I have come back to tell you how well I 
love you and to ask you to be my wife !” 

A great wave of joy swept over her heart, then 
a deep pain. The tears were in her eyes as she 
said, “O Mr. Dunham, why did you?” 

“Because I love you so; because I want you 
so; because I need you so!” he answered gently. 
“Will you not come to me, then?” 

Her head was bowed; he could not see the 
dark eyes with the anguish in them. At last she 
said, “ I cannot, Mr. Dunham. It cannot be.” 

“You do not care for me then ?” 

She nerved herself to be very brave and very 
true. “Yes, Mr. Dunham. You have been so 
good, so kind a friend, I could not help — caring 
for you. But my mother never would consent to 
what you ask. I have brought her so much pain 
and suffering; I cannot make more for her.” 

“And I alone must bear this pain?” he said. 

A silence, while her heart gathered courage, 
then she said frankly, “No, not alone. But we 
are young and my mother is not.” 

It was all in vain. He used every argument 
that love could find. He pleaded eloquently. 

But she had only the one reply. 

Would she let him wait on, with a hope that 
a brighter day would come ? 

Yes, if he wished. 


268 


ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 


And might he come often to see her and be 
helped by her love ? 

Yes, he might come, but not too often. 

And then he knew by the tremor of her lips 
that she was putting upon herself too a heavy 
pain. Oh, if he might but bear her away and set 
her in the midst of all the bright and pleasant 
things which love can devise ! 

But it was not yet to be. 

After a long hour of pleading and of a certain 
sad happiness Roger Dunham rose and went 
away. 

Sara watched him till he had passed out of 
sight. Then she turned, and her mother was 
standing, white and stern, by her side. 

“Mr. Dunham has been here again, has he 
not?” she asked. 

“Yes, mother.” The girl’s face suddenly 
grew white and she fell forward fainting; the 
strain had been too great. 

Mrs. Rothmann understood all without any 
words. Her lips were compressed tightly, and 
over her whole face settled a look of stern resolu- 
tion — a look which was sad indeed to see on that 
face which had been so warm and bright with 
motherly love and pride. 

It was not many days before Roger Dunham 
received a written line denying him the right to 


FOLLOWING THE LIGHT. 269 

visit at Mrs. Rotlimann’s home. That was all. 
And there he had to rest. 

Shall I say that he repented of his choice, that 
he gave it up, and was content with those things 
which might be? No, I cannot do that. But 
what, after all, is the choice of this man or that 
to you and to me? God’s eternal laws of truth 
and right are not affected by it. 

What we have to look to is this: that we lay 
no weight more of contempt or unkindness upon 
this burden-bearing people; that we, each with 
our small individual cross, refuse not to walk, if 
need arise, side by side with those, who yet may 
catch from our poor Christianity some faint gleam 
of that lyight which shone from the Saviour’s 
cross to guide all mankind to heaven. 

As for Sara Rothmann and Roger Dunham, 
they can afford to wait. Rife is young for them 
and full of all sweet possibilities. Bach has some 
work to do in the world. Even amid the shadows 
they can find sunshine. They will not wound 
one heart more than is necessary, to secure their 
own selfish happiness. 

Elvina Brand watches these two in their un- 
selfishness, and she w'onders at it. But the self- 
ishness gradually dies out of her own heart, her 
opinions broaden, her “theories” take on a more 
womanly tenderness and sympathy, her life warms 


270 ROGER DUNHAM’S CHOICE. 

and glows with a real, brave, pure Christian- 
ity. 

And under “Him who worketh all things 
after the counsel of his own will,” and who often, 
in ways most unexpected, does for us “exceeding 
abundantly above all that we ask or think,” for 
the beginning of this happy change she has to 
thank the Jewish girl whom she once unjustly 
disliked and despised. Nor is it the least hopeful 
sign about Elvina Brand that she humbly admits 
this to herself and gives God thanks both for his 
grace and for its human instrument. 



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